


Backstreets

by MarthaOswinOswald



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, all the drama, long fic, no one dies this time i promise, sorta slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-07 11:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10359864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarthaOswinOswald/pseuds/MarthaOswinOswald
Summary: It's 1977, and Pink Floyd has takenAnimalson the road. With them, bluesman Snowy White, a London session musician. It's not long before he and Roger develop a mutual interest in each other. But it's a dangerous game to play, and Snowy soon finds himself in over his head, with the scars to prove it...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it's Snowy and Roger as the centerpiece in this one, but there's still a bit of Roger/David if that's your fix. I've included my warnings in the tags. That being said, I do realize that what happens between Roger and Snowy is not a healthy practice of BDSM. This was intentional. This was fun to write and turned out way longer than I'd expected. 
> 
> Alright, on with the show...

November 1976: 

The room he’d been asked to sit and wait in was awfully small and awfully quiet. The couch was uncomfortable, but there were no chairs, and he’d perched on the edge of the sofa and had been sitting this way for over twenty minutes now. His Goldtop was at his feet, tucked away it’s case, but he wished he hadn’t brought it. It felt presumptuous. Imperious. He was sure he hadn’t even been considered seriously, just expected to toss his hat in the ring to fuel his ego, to make him feel good, like he was in the running with the big boys now, even if it amounted to nothing and left him the dust. 

He hadn’t heard good things, either. Nothing too terrible, aside from the rumors that the keyboardist had a mild coke habit and that the guitarist slept around a lot. And even that wasn’t the worst, not by the standards of what else he’d surrounded himself with. They weren’t the Stones, and they didn’t throw televisions out the window like those guys from the Who. Or Zeppelin. He’d just heard these ones were aloof, big-headed, thinking they were creating high art. When they took the stage, you weren’t supposed to engage yourself. You were expected to quietly sit back and watch. And so he sat in the small, quiet room, Goldie at his feet, and waited…

“I can’t believe you did that! Worked all fuckin’ week on that, ‘n you don’t even bother to listen to it before telling me to scrap it. At least pretend you listened, Rog, why don’t you?”

“It was shite, Dave, didn’t fit the mood. I ask for something angry, something that’ll tear your face off when you hear it. You just gave me something lukewarm that sounded only mildly cross. I can’t do your job for you, I don’t play.”

They moved down the cramped hallway shoulder to shoulder, content on being squished together. It gave them an excuse to get mad and jostle each other.  
“You know, I’m part of this, too, s’not just your band. I’m not a session musician.”

“Then put in effort, yeah?” Roger smiled sarcastically. “Get off your fat arse and work.” 

Snowy heard them coming down the hall and into the room. The shorter one was mid-sentence when they walked in.

“Oh, I can’t believe I ever you let you fu—”

He stopped short when he saw Snowy and the taller one held up a hand. When he spoke, his tone was cool and oily. 

“Please, David, not now.” He offered Snowy a smile, but it wasn’t very kind. “And certainly not with guests around, especially one so young.” 

Snowy wanted to say he was almost thirty, but he swallowed his words and stood. He held out his hand diplomatically. “Hullo, Snowy White. Nice to meet you. Hilary sent me over, I’m here for the audition.”

“Hilary?” The shorter one, David, stared at him, before shaking his outstretched hand. 

“Kate Bush’s manager.”

“Kate Bush.” The taller one rolled his eyes in disgust, and Snowy half expected him to not even shake his hand. And if he did, he seemed like the type who’d make a scene of wiping it off on his jeans. But he took Snowy’s hand in his lean one and shook, staring into Snowy’s eyes as he did so. There was something there that put Snowy on edge, but he couldn’t pin it down. It gave him the shivers. 

“I rather like her.” David was indignant. 

“I’m sure you do.” 

“I thought you said we weren’t talking about this with him around.” 

“The audition.” The taller one moved on, giving David a nasty look. “Come with us, Snowy. And may I call you something else? It’s a stupid moniker.” 

Snowy hadn’t heard someone use the word ‘moniker’ seriously before. He wasn’t even sure what it meant. These guys were full of themselves. When he didn’t answer immediately, the taller one repeated himself. 

“Your name?” 

“I should ask the same of you,” Snowy said, and instantly regretted it. He was given an even meaner look than David had. A sneer, one that had clearly been perfected over the years. Gaze chilled, nose twitching, lip curled perfectly. 

“Roger, if you must ask, but Mr. Waters to you.”

“Oh, c’mon, Rog.” David gave Snowy a little smile of sympathy. Snowy smiled back, grateful to have someone on his side. “If you really want to get under his skin, ‘Georgie’ does the trick quite nicely, I’ve found.” 

They were farther down the hallway now, heading for a pair of double doors into one of the studios. Roger whirled around, and he looked like he wanted to slam David against a wall and beat him. David’s smile was taunting, for he knew Roger wouldn’t do anything of the sort with strangers around. 

“Don’t call me that.” Roger looked at Snowy, walking again. “If you do, I’ll have you fired. And I’ll make sure you’re never hired anywhere else. And forget about any contracts.” 

Snowy almost said he hadn’t even been hired yet, or that he hadn’t even played yet, but he held his tongue. He wouldn’t say anything out of turn, not if this guy could blacklist him. 

“No, sir, never,” Snowy said, and he was sure only David picked up barely-there sarcasm. 

“Sir.” Roger laughed and smiled at Snowy warmly for the first time. “I like that. Keep it up.” 

 

Snowy couldn’t believe they’d chosen him. He’d gotten the phone call a week after his visit to the studio, and they’d asked him to come in that afternoon if possible. They wanted him to meet the rest of the band. The call was a surprise. The audition, he thought, had gone well, and he’d pulled it off without a hitch, but he was sure he didn’t fit the part. Nothing about what he’d done was too special, and while he’d played it well, he was sure he sounded like any other session musician out there. 

What he hadn’t been privy to was the divided debate the evening before that had occurred at Britannia Row. The crew had gone home, so had Steve, and the four of them sat alone doing what they did best: argue. 

“I liked him,” Nick said. “I only heard the last few bars of what he played. It was good.” 

David shrugged. “Nothin’ exceptional.” 

“You just don’t like him cause he’s like you.” Rick eyed him from across the table and took a jittery drag of his cigarette, sniffing. “You’re afraid he’ll steal the spotlight, pull it right out from under your feet.”

“Please.” David rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried bout a thing from that kid. He’s too nervous, too much self-doubt. He’ll know his place on stage.”

“Thought you didn’t want to hire him,” Nick said. 

“I don’t.”

Roger hadn’t said a word, and they’d been going along for a while now without him. That was alright; he didn’t mind staying quiet. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He just said the first thing to his mind, all for the sake of arguing. Other times, he was conservative. He’d wait in the grass, low, ready to strike only after everyone else had positioned themselves. He just sat there quietly, biting his nails and nursing a cigarette. It was dim in the studio, shadowy, and he felt he blended with the darkness. He wasn’t sure they even noticed him. 

“I want him.” Roger finally spoke. 

They all stared at him, until Rick said, “From what I heard, you were awfully mean to him when he came in.” 

“And who told you that?” Roger slowly turned to look at him, and Rick cracked under his gaze. He was the first to look away, staring down at the table and sniffing again. Roger grinned. “Like I said, I think we should take him.”

“Why?” Nick asked. 

“Why do you ask?” Roger may have found Rick weak and David vain, but he didn’t mind Nick. 

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing with you, I think we should hire him, too. I just want to know why you think so.” When he saw Roger begin to posture himself, he continued quickly, “I’m only curious.” 

Roger was quiet for a few seconds, pulling off his cigarette and tapping his lean fingers against the table’s surface. Then he looked at David and said, “Because he’s everything you aren’t.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” David looked back at him, already insulted. 

“He’s young. He’s not full of himself. Quiet. Smart.” A pause. “Talented.” And even longer pause, as Roger watched David struggle to seem unafflicted.

“You just like him cause he’s blond,” David spat. It wasn’t light enough in the room to see Roger’s complexion well, but he felt the heat rise on his cheeks. David just stared at him, enjoying his discomfort. 

“You’re blond,” Nick said, and David gave him the finger.

“Hair color aside,” Roger said, “At least he washes it.” 

David looked ready to lunge across the table and throttle Roger, but he only shrugged. “Hire him or don’t. Do what you like. God knows you won’t value my input even if I shove it down your throat.” 

Roger began to blink rapidly, and David didn’t back down like Rick had. Roger didn’t scare him, just got on his nerves and was an exhausting bitch to put up with. They just stared at each other, until Nick coughed loudly. 

“What’s the call on this one, guys? I wanna go home.” 

“It’s past eleven,” said Rick, sniffing again. 

“What’s wrong, Ricky?” Roger looked away from David. “Strung out? Tired of hearing him bitch all evening?” He motioned towards David, who rolled his eyes. “Go home, get your drugs, and don’t feel like you need to show up tomorrow.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“No, I can’t,” Roger said. He stood and pulled his jacket on, cigarette stuck between his lips. “‘And I’m not. But I can pity you, and I do. You need this job, and I’m nice enough to keep you around. I’ll call you when I need you.” He left then, halfway down the hall when Rick mumbled, 

“Fucking fag.”  
Roger didn’t hear him, he was already gone, and even if David hated him as much as Rick did, he said, 

“Find another word, Rick. It’s not very nice.” 

“What’s it to you?” Rick watched as both David and Nick got up and grabbed their jackets. 

“Oh, it’s nothing to me. It’s only a name. But if you really wanna get your kicks you can go out there in the parking lot and scream at him. Call him a cunt, right to his face. See what that gets you.” 

“Gets me fired.”

“Nah,” Nick laughed. “You’d just never find your stash ever again. And no dealer willing to sell to you.” 

“He hasn’t got that kind of power.” Rick got up, too. Stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table. “Plus, he would never go near that stuff. Rog and coke?” Rick laughed loudly. They were in the hallway now, his laughter bouncing off the walls. “Of course, I wouldn’t complain if it killed him.”

David laughed, too. “You know, I don’t think I could complain either. Should give him some, Rick, see what it does.” 

They were in the parking lot now, just as the tail lights of Roger’s car sped off into the night. This made them laugh harder, even Nick, who sometimes felt bad for Roger, what with how they all poked fun at him. When they’d quieted down, and Rick had driven off, it was just the two of them. 

Nick climbed into his car but rolled down the window. David walked up to him and leaned down. 

“So what are we doing?” Nick asked. “Hire him or not?”

David was quiet for a long time, mouth pulled into a thin line and his brow furrowed. “Hire him. I should give him a chance.”

“So you like him?” 

“‘Course. He was bloody talented. I just didn’t want to side with Roger, at least to his face. Give that smug bastard the satisfaction. Believe me…” David straightened and made for his own car, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ve already given him enough for one lifetime. Hate to give him any more.”


	2. Chapter 2

December 1976:

“Stop! Stop it, stop playing! Fuck, Snowy.” Roger stopped abruptly, hands falling away from the neck of his guitar. “This is the fifth time we’ve run this. Now it’s just you and me, and I’m not the one causing the problem here. If you can’t play the solo in the middle of it, give it to David.”

David wasn’t there, and they were alone in the room, which was the last thing Snowy wanted. He hadn’t meant to mess up, he’d just hit a few wrong notes and that had thrown him all out of whack. It just wasn’t his day, it never was, and having Roger on the prowl like this didn’t make things any better. He’d only messed up twice, the other three times being Roger’s fault, but Roger himself wasn’t going to admit this. And so Snowy had ended up bearing the brunt the mistakes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking at his feet. He didn’t dare look Roger in the eye. “I didn’t mean to. I promise it won’t happen again.” 

“You’re sorry? If you were sorry, you wouldn’t keep messing up. We hired you to do a job, and you’re not doing it. And if you keep not doing it, we’ll have to fire you. And that’ll fuck you over because I’ll make certain you never get another job again!” 

Snowy kept his head down, but he could feel the anger radiating from across the room where Roger stood.  
“Are you listening to me?” 

Snowy nodded, still looking at his shoes. 

“Look at me when I ask you a question.” Roger’s voice rose, and he waited until Snowy raised his head. “Are you listening?”

Snowy nodded again, and said quietly, “Yes.”

“Alright.” Roger turned away in disgust. “Once more, and if you can’t get it this time, you’re dismissed.”

Snowy wasn’t sure if he meant for the day or indefinitely, but he took the threat seriously. Roger scared him. He was always angry with everyone and mean about it. And yet he seemed to have this fascination with Snowy, always calling him out, staring at him, as if he had to go out of his way to assert himself. Snowy wasn’t sure what it was he’d done wrong. Roger began strumming again, and after awhile he began to sing, nasally yet strong voice reverberating out of the speakers. Snowy gripped the neck of his guitar and positioned his finger on the strings, stomach tightening. His picking hand felt weak, and in the anticipation of it all, he almost missed his cue. But he entered without a hitch and that gave him a tiny burst of confidence. That was until he looked up and saw Roger staring at him. He was being eyed with such an intensity that he faltered, thinking Roger’s look was something of anger or disbelief. He stopped completely midway through his solo, the last few notes ringing out into the empty room. Then Roger’s gaze did turn to anger, color rising on his cheeks and his face twisting into a snarl. 

“That’s it! I hire you and you can’t even do your job. Gimme the guitar.” He crossed the room in three, sweeping strides, snatching the Goldtop from Snowy, who let out a small cry as if it was his own child being taken from him. “You disgust me. Worthless boy,” Roger spat. “Get out.” When Snowy didn’t immediately move, Roger began to shout. “Get out, you useless boy! And don’t come back! Get out!” 

Snowy did as he was told, turning away and running towards the door, already feeling a tear or two leak from his eyes and slide down his cheeks. He thought it stupid he was crying, but he couldn’t help it. Roger was just so angry, and he’d left Snowy mortified and hurt. He was embarrassed messing up like that because he was supposed to be better. This was his job, he practiced, he came into work every day, it was his talent. And he’d failed. 

In his frustration with himself for crying, trying to stop his tears only made them come harder and he felt a sob bubble up in his chest. He began to run, trying to get away from the room and Roger as fast as he could, and when he stumbled around the corner, he ran right into David. 

David immediately knew something was wrong, and he held Snowy in place by his shoulders until he’d stopped crying. It hadn’t been too bad and he hadn’t begun sobbing, and after a minute of shaky breathing and wiping his eyes, David stepped back. 

“Snowy, my God, what’s wrong? You alright? What happened?” 

“David, oh my God, David!” Roger was coming down the hall, shouting at them. He still looked angry. “Leave him alone, get your hands off him.”

“What did you do?” David scowled at him, aware of how Snowy seemed to be scooting behind him, hiding his face. “You’ve upset him, the fuck did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Roger growled, but when he met Snowy’s gaze, he looked away quickly. 

“Okay, well…” David took Snowy by the shoulders and gently led him down the hallway. “I’ll be back for you later.” He waited until they were outside and sitting on the front steps of Britannia Row before speaking again. It was cold, and they were without jackets, huddling together for warmth. “But seriously.” He looked at Snowy. “What happened?”

Snowy shivered and stuffed his hands between his thighs. He could see his breath billow out in front of him, momentarily obscuring his view.

“I messed up. We were on our fifth run of Pigs, ‘cause we couldn’t get it right, and I fucked up the solo and he lost his shit on me. Course, half the mistakes were his fault, but you know how he is.” 

“Believe me. Can’t stand him anymore. He used to be alright, you know? A little sensitive, but you could take the heat. When I first met him,” David laughed dryly, “he was actually nice. I wanted to be around him, enjoyed being with him. Now he’s impossible.” 

“I just can’t believe he made me cry. It’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s not.” David looked at him. “I would’ve done the same. Hell, I have. He cries, believe it or not.”

“No way.”

“Just wait.” David smiled. “You’ll see. It’s a sight. No, but what did he say to you?”

“Roger?” Snowy rolled his eyes. “Told me I disgusted him. That I was worthless, useless. I’m half sure he mighta fired me. I don’t know.” He frowned. He expected David to be shocked, to gasp and say ‘I can’t believe he said that’. But David did no such thing. He merely nodded his head, looking out across the street. 

“That sounds about right. I know it’s hard but you gotta let it roll off you. He doesn’t really mean it. He’s still angry, but he doesn’t think you’re worthless. He’s kept you around this long.”

“I’m not fired?”

“No. He didn’t mean it, and even if he did, I wouldn’t let him. We need you. Trust me, he’s said much worse to me and I’m still here.” 

“It’s just hard, you know.” Snowy was surprised to feel himself choke up, and he swallowed heavily, blinking away the first suggestions of tears that rose to his lashes. “I’ve never taken a project this big before, I don’t feel like I belong, I can’t seem to make Roger happy.” 

“Gets you, doesn’t it? You want to impress him. God, you want his approval so badly it hurts, but...but you don’t. Not him, not his favor, don’t want to go around saying Roger likes you. Around here that’s a joke.”

“It’s teacher’s pet.” It sounded silly the moment Snowy said it, but David said he agreed. 

“When I first came here, in ‘67, ten years ago, whew.” He paused, blown away at how the time had passed. Then he cleared his throat and continued. “So in ‘67, when I got here, I was a fill in for Syd, there were five of us. But you knew, knew Syd wouldn’t last long. I felt so guilty about it, like we were just waiting out the clock until I could step in officially. Didn’t really know anyone, I felt like I was intruding, no one seemed to want me around.” He stopped and smiled at Snowy, who was surprised to see his eyes wet and glistening. “Roger was so nice to me then. Hesitant at first, ‘cause I was replacing Syd, but kinder. He was very young, very scared, I think.”

“He took me in for a few years after that. Pulled me up into his world, this world,” David waved his hands around them, gesturing to the building at their backs. “Because even after everything I’d done, this was different. When I was younger, it was fighting to survive, and if you paused for even a second, you went under. Here, it’s about status, money, smooth-talking your way up. It’s a game, not a battle. And he knew how to do it. Or at least he was figuring it out faster than I was. I’m sorry.” David stopped suddenly. “That was a lot, I know. I shouldn’t have made it about me. This is your thing.”

“No.” Snowy smiled at him. “Thank you. I don’t feel alone now…but I think I gotta figure this one out on my own, at least as much as I can. I hope that’s not an insult, I just need to figure out my own way of doing this.”

“Eh, you’re fine,” David said, waving him away. “I’m here if you need me. But you’re right. What worked for me won’t work for you, I can tell you that right now.”  
“And what worked for you?” Snowy asked.

David was quiet for a long time, his lips moving but no sound escaping. “I’ll tell you what didn’t work, alright? It’s a game of power. I challenged him, got above what he wanted me to be, got bold. That won’t work with him. You gotta let him be in control, or at least let him think he is.” 

“Okay, but, I—” Snowy was mid-sentence when David stood and dusted off the back of his jeans. “Wait.”

“You’re going home, Snowy. You need it. Take the rest of the day, and come in tomorrow as usual. I’ll take care of Roger.” 

Snowy stood, too, thinking his jacket was still inside, but like hell he’d go back in to get it, not if Roger was in there. He’d just freeze until he got home. Silently, he grabbed David’s hand and gave it a squeeze, thinking a spoken ‘thank you’ was an understatement, but that he wasn’t about to go around hugging people. David just smiled and squeezed back, then letting go and mounting the steps, halfway through the door when he turned around. 

“Be careful, Snowy. You’ll be in over your head and you might not make it out. Play the game.” Then he stepped inside, the front door of Britannia Row slamming shut and leaving Snowy alone on the front stoop, cold and more confused than ever. 

 

Roger was waiting for him when he reached his car, leaning against the driver’s side door with his coat pulled up around his ears. Snowy came around the corner quickly, too quickly to double back quietly and find another way to get home. Roger spotted him immediately, and it was as if he knew Snowy wanted to run because he shook his head and beckoned him forward. 

“Don’t run. It won’t work.” When he saw the panic on Snowy’s face, he sighed and tried again. He lowered his voice, tone gentle and patient. “I’m sorry.” Snowy was so surprised he forgot to speak, but that didn’t matter because Roger kept going. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not worthless, and we do need you. You’re not fired.” 

He seemed too conceding, but he’d gotten there on his own, because certainly, David hadn’t had time to talk to him yet. Snowy was about to say something, to thank him and climb into his car and go home, when Roger slipped off his jacket it and handed it to Snowy. 

“And take my jacket. I know yours is inside, but you can just get it tomorrow.” 

Snowy took it gingerly, wanting to be grateful for the gesture, but thinking Roger was being just too nice. He mumbled a ‘thank you’ and wanted that to be the end, but then he thought of what David had said. And so, swallowing his pride, he said,

“You know, I’m sorry. You’ve nothing to apologize for. I should’ve practiced my part, I shouldn’t have messed up so many times, it was my job and I failed. You hired me, and I let you down. It won’t happen again.” 

Roger narrowed his eyes. Then he grinned and clapped Snowy on the shoulder. “Good answer. Now,” he said, stepping aside to give Snowy access to his car door. “Go home and get some rest. And I expect a flawless performance tomorrow.”

With that, he walked off toward Britannia Row, smiling stupidly to himself, tempted to turn around, to see that young, innocent face again. He thought better of it, still grinning as he disappeared inside the building. And Snowy was still outside his car, wondering what he valued more: his pride or his power.


	3. Chapter 3

February 1977:

The Zürich Hallenstadion was large, and so was it’s backstage, now teeming with people. 

Half of them were crew and band, the other half wannabes, hangers-on, and anyone else who wanted to go home that evening and then tell anyone who would listen that they’d been backstage with the Pink Floyd. 

The show had ended later than usual, but the crowd backstage showed no sign of slowing, and as the night wore on, the music got louder, the clouds of cigarette smoke grew thicker, and the drinks just kept coming. By one, it stunk of pot, and Snowy was sure about three or four groupies had approached him eagerly, offering themselves in broken, excited English. He’d merely declined politely, content to take another glass of beer Nick had handed him and light up another cigarette. 

By one-thirty, he saw Roger push through the crowd and take a seat next to him on the small couch. He wasn’t drunk, and not even tipsy, but there were spots of color on his cheeks and he wasn’t scowling. In fact, when he sat, he sat remarkably close to Snowy, smiling brightly. He seemed loose, comfortable, and so unlike himself it left Snowy unsure of how to proceed. 

“You’re still here.” Snowy was bold with the question. He’d found what set Roger off and what didn’t, and that he could get away with things none of the others could. Not even Nick. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t left yet,” Roger said honestly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Snowy, who took it. He struck a match and waved Snowy in to light his cigarette. Their faces were centimeters apart, so close Snowy could see the fractured colors in Roger’s eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. Roger held his gaze, and the smile that formed around the filter between his lips was small and sly. Then he blinked and looked away, grinning as if he and Snowy had some sort of secret. 

“Anyone ever told you you’ve a lovely smile?” Snowy wondered if Roger was more intoxicated than he was letting on because he was either drunk or completely serious. “And your name. It’s not really Snowy, is it?”

“No. It’s Terence.” When he saw the look on Roger’s face, he laughed. “You’re going to call me that now, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Roger said dryly, and then laughed as well. “It’s a nice name, very proud.”

“Terence Charles White. I always thought it sounded snobbish. Terence is alright, but Charles is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I like it,” Roger said, pulling on his cigarette and haphazardly throwing his arm on the back of the couch so that his lithe fingers trailed over Snowy’s shoulder. “It’s impressive.” 

“Well, just don’t let the others catch on. Just you and me.” Snowy eyed his cigarette and took a drag, leaving it between his lips as an excuse to not have to speak. He wasn’t uncomfortable, and Roger didn’t scare him like he used to. But in the moment, he didn’t mind the absence of his own voice. He was content to purely listen. 

“I hate this,” Roger said suddenly. 

“Hate what?” It came out muffled around the cigarette. 

“This.” Roger waved his hand like it clarified things. “Touring. I’ve always hated it.” He paused, flicking his cigarette down and stamping it out. Then he continued. “It’s strange. Strange people, none of them talk like you. I mean, they speak English, but not the good English. The audiences are awful, and they’ve no respect.”

“No respect,” Snowy echoed to show he was listening. It wasn’t as if he agreed, but Roger had never seemed so open before, so honest and comfortable, and Snowy didn’t want to get in his way one bit.  
“It’s far away from home, wherever you are. I used to miss my wife, Jude, and that was a bust, but I still missed her. I miss Carolyne. She just had a baby, Terence. Our baby.” 

“You have a baby?” Snowy was paying better attention now.

“His name’s Harry. He’s not even a year. I miss them.” He paused, and sniffed, pulling his arm away from Snowy and hunching over, elbows on his knees. He kept his gaze to the cracked concrete beneath his shoes. “It’s lonely, man. I used to have David before he ended up hating me, useless prick.” Despite his tenderness, Snowy could see his constant anger filter through. It was pervasive, tenacious, so rooted and part of his very being that it wouldn’t go away. Even his sadness was angry. “And I’m tired, I’m so tired. It’s been a month, and we’ve till July.”

“But we’ve got a break in the middle of it, don’t we?” Snowy regretted saying this as soon as the words left his mouth, for Roger lifted his head and looked at him with contempt. 

“You don’t understand.” He snarled. “It’s home, but even that’s no break. I’ve a wife to deal with. She wants to spend time with me, and talk to me, and ask me how I am, but she doesn’t get it. I love her, but she doesn’t understand. Asks why I never call home to see how she’s doing. Because,” he said, tone dropping as if he was speaking to himself more than Snowy. “The last time I phoned home, a man answered. Course I shouldn’t judge.” He was in his own world now, and Snowy strained to hear. This seemed important, what Roger was divulging, and he didn’t want to miss a single word of it. “I haven’t been exactly....devoted. I hate her for going off and finding another man to fool around with and I did the exact same thing.” Snowy wasn’t sure if he’d heard that correctly, but then Roger sat up and stared at him curiously, and with a tinge of guilt. “Sorry. I shouldn’t said any of that.”

“No, it’s alright. You have to tell someone. I won’t say a word.” Snowy instinctively put a hand on Roger’s arm to show his sincerity. He might have even hugged him, but that felt entirely inappropriate. 

Roger pulled away as if he’d been stung or shocked with static. His expression of guilt wilted, replaced with a sneer. “Don’t touch me, Terence.”

Snowy’s face fell, and he let his hands fall into his lap. “Sorry, I was just trying to help.” 

“Go back to the hotel. We’re done here.” 

Snowy stood quickly, feeling the first stirrings of anger in his gut. “Fine, then. That’s the last time I offer you some sympathy.” He wanted to be surprised at Roger’s mood swing, but he wasn’t. That was what hurt, that he’d never be able to win with this man. 

Roger watched him stalk off, before sitting back, sinking into the couch. He put his hand over his mouth in horror at what he’d just done, frustrated and tired and still riding out his anger high. He hadn’t meant to be so mean, it had just happened. That’s how he was these days, and yet he didn’t know what to do about it. That was the real torture, seeing a path of self-destruction in his wake and unable to stop himself. And Snowy. The only thing that mattered to Roger at the moment. Snowy was oblivious, of course, but Roger was sick in the head from it. He’d longed for that touch, those fingers on his shoulder, the sympathy and understanding in Snowy’s eyes, all for him. 

_The nights I’ve spent since I first saw you. Wide awake and pulling on my cock in starved desperation. Biting down on my lip to hold in your name, fearing if I say it aloud, my hunger shall become too strong for me to deny. Eating away until I’m rabid, crazy because I want you. I need you. You have undone me, and at times it feels as I exist purely for you. You are a god. And I am yours._

February 1977:

Snowy began to find himself compelled to Roger’s presence.

Roger had apologized to him the next morning, after backstage at the Hallenstadion, and had treated him to breakfast in their hotel’s restaurant. He’d said he hadn’t meant anything of what he’d said, and that he’d hoped Snowy could forgive him. Snowy had found he could.

He wasn’t compelled by Roger’s mystery because there was none. He was a lonely, angry man, and that was it. But he was powerful and striking when he spoke and in the way he held himself. He didn’t ask, he commanded, and despite being younger than Rick, he seemed ancient. Snowy admired his brilliance, his perception. He kept his distance, however. Despite Roger’s apologies, Snowy was wary of him, and while this made him feel safe and confident in the fact that he might be spared from Roger’s wrath, it frustrated him to no end. Roger was not mysterious by any means, but his aloof manner fascinated Snowy, and he began to wonder what truly resided under Roger’s tight and haughty anger. His curiosity fueled itself, and at times, in his furor of fear and fascination, he became a dog chasing its tail. So hung up on how he felt about Roger that he forget to pay attention to Roger in the first place, missing everything he wanted to see so badly.

Roger became his fixation.

Snowy slowly found himself considering Roger immaculate, with his power and intelligence and blinding anger. At first, Roger’s appearance had humored him, but now, as they took the stage, Snowy saw a god. His shirt was tight against his chest, arms rippling as his slung his bass over his shoulders. By intermission, Roger stalking off stage, flushed, and strands of hair matted to his face with sweat. He sometimes caught Snowy’s gaze and smiled, and Snowy would beam under his attention. He felt like he should’ve been down in the audience, weakened and breathless to genuflect before the gods on stage.

His curiosity became his fixation and his fixation became worship. He was so smitten and infatuated that he forgot to be dignified about it. He’d make a fool of himself for Roger and he wouldn’t care. Hell, he wanted to make an ass of himself, if it meant he’d get a little extra attention from the god himself.

It wasn’t very sudden, his realization. But perhaps it felt so, the moment of clarity so heavy on his chest but letting him breathe. Like a rush of cold winter air that flooded the lungs and made him feel so clear and chilled he would shatter. It was the freedom of acceptance that left him bound to what he loved most. It was submission to himself, and in time, submission to his master.

He awoke with a gasp, sitting up in his small hotel bed. The curtains pulled open, he could see a pale, rosy wash of the morning over the Paris skyline. He sat, staring, for a long while, sheets bunched up at his waist. He lit a cigarette, unsure of the time, content to watch the city wake. When he’d smoked the cigarette to ash, he lay back and struggled out of his underwear and shirt.

Snowy thought of Roger then. Without guilt, only passion, he felt. And when he came, he knew. As he wiped himself down and curled into his pillow as if to hide from himself what he’d just done, he cried. Tears of relief, of fear, of desire so strong it made his bones ache.

He was in love.

 

Snowy awoke to the morning sun streaming into his room. 

The clock on the bedside said it was nearing nine, but he didn’t need to be at the venue till late afternoon, so no one had come knocking. He was still naked, curled around his pillow, face pressed into the mattress. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair and untangling himself from the sheets. Then he sat, hands over his face, unsure of how to feel. He’d fallen asleep, and although his early morning cigarette had been hours ago, he was sure that had been another day, one far away from here and now. He wanted to be horrified, but by the time he’d clambered into the shower, turned on the hot water, and tossed off again in the steam with the water beating down on him, he could only feel giddy to the point of being sick. 

He couldn’t deny how he felt any longer and there was freedom in that. As he toweled off, dressed, and began to dry his hair, he tried to calm himself. He knew it would amount to nothing, and he’d spend the rest of the tour chasing after a man who barely cared about his existence. Roger was married, he had a baby, and he didn’t like men. That much was obvious. And Snowy was his subordinate. Even when Roger was nice, Snowy felt like a burden, too young and awkward and inexperienced to hang around the rest of the band. Rick was rarely around, and neither was David. Nick and Dick Parry tried to make him feel alright, and the crew were mighty fun to muck about with. 

But he’d try, he figured, as he pulled on his shoes and jacket and left his room towards the elevators. Goddamn it, he’d try. At least to have Roger warm up to him more, to be friends, although thinking this made him feel silly and he scolded himself for already getting his hopes up. Roger would be polite and maybe a bit nice if he had enough alcohol in him, but then Snowy would set him off, he’d start shouting, and that’s as far as they’d ever get. Or worse, Snowy was sure he’d overstep his boundaries and Roger would destroy him for even thinking they could be more than temporary bandmates. 

By the time he was out of the hotel and halfway down the sidewalk, however, he’d shaken all of this from his mind, and he was feeling fluttery again. It was premature to catastrophize, and for a while, he could pretend Roger might like him. He didn’t want to be reasonable, that was the point of being in love. For now, he was happy to be recklessly sick-in-love until he crashed. 

“Snowy! Wait up, man!” Snowy turned, met with David running to catch up with him. He’d half expected to see Roger, and his stomach dropped in disappointment. Not that David wasn’t personable and fun to be around. Quite the contrary. Everyone wanted to be around David Gilmour. They’d just about kill to be chased down the street by him. In Paris, no less. 

“Hey!” Snowy felt a smile form on its own accord. “Good morning!”

“You’re in good mood,” David said, slowing once they were shoulder to shoulder. “Have a girl last night then, did ya?”

Snowy laughed. “No, no. I’m just...happy.” He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Where you headed then? All of Paris and we don’t need to be at the Pavillon till later.”

“Nowhere, really. I was just out for a walk. It’s warm for February.”

“Well, it’s not freezing, if that’s what you mean.” David burrowed deeper in his jacket. “You sure you’re alright, Snow? Seem a little...out of it.” 

“Oh, me?” Snowy grinned again and felt the sudden urge to run ahead of David, like a race. He hadn’t even gotten too much sleep, and no coffee or breakfast, either, and he felt like he run a marathon. He could go years without sleeping or slowing down, and he might keel over in his grave with a loony smile still spread out on his face. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem it.” David frowned, but looked amused at Snowy’s happiness. “You had anything to eat yet? If I remember correctly, there’s a pretty good cafe just down the street from here. It’s been a few years, but it might still be there.”

“You’ve been to Paris?” Snowy stared at him. 

“Loads of times, lad. Busked here for while. That was interesting.” They kept meandering down the street, and Snowy marveled at everything around him. So far, touring and seeing all these cities had made him feel small and naive, but Paris thrilled him. Or maybe that he was thrilled for other reasons. The City of Love just added to it all. 

“You busked? In Paris?” Snowy winced at how shrill he sounded. He should’ve expected this much, really. 

“Yeah. Rest of Europe, too. But I speak French fluently, so this was the easiest and best to navigate. It’s a fun city once you get the hang of it.”

“Fun?” Snowy narrowed his eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” David winked at him. “So no girl then last night?”

“Would you let that go?” Even as Snowy shoved him playfully, he couldn’t stop smiling. Last night, and the early morning, may have been slightly painful, but now he couldn’t shake his ecstasy. He hadn’t felt this way in years, since he was a teenager stuck at home on the Isle of Wight with only his guitars and the countryside of the island to keep him company. On the island there’d been more than a few boys and girls who’d caught his eye and he, in turn, had intrigued them. But never this intensity, now that he was older, smarter, and a little more foolish. 

“Can’t, Snow. I can see it on your face. You’re a liar. Who was she?”

“No one, alright?” Snowy paused, silent as they continued down the street. He wanted to keep his feelings a secret, he had to. And it was part of the fun to keep it to himself. But he was also bursting to say something, to tell every stranger they passed that he was in love, he was in love, and he didn’t care who knew it. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you.”

David looked at him expectantly, and when Snowy didn’t say anything at first, he waved his hand impatiently, prompting an answer. “C’mon, Snow. Just tell me. I’ll keep your secret, if it’s a name you’ve got.”

“And if I don’t have a name?”

“I’ll keep it anyway.” 

“Fine.” Snowy bit his lip, staring at his shoes, and then looking up, smiling at the clouds. Then, breathlessly, he said, “I think I’m in love.” 

David just stared at him. Then he began to laugh, throwing his head back to the sky. When he’d calmed and saw the hurt on Snowy’s face, he smiled gently. “You’re in love?”

“Something wrong with that?” Snowy scowled at him, the happiness in his chest sputtering like a candle flame in the wind. “You asked.”

“Oh, Snowy, I’m sorry,” David said, and he truly was. “I didn’t mean to laugh, and I wasn’t laughing at you, I’m sorry.” He tried to smile without giggling. “It’s just very nice, how you said that. Very pure. I remember how you feel. It’s lovely.” 

Snowy eyed him warily, but then Roger floated back into his mind, and he began smiling foolishly again. “Alright, I forgive you. I just…”

“I’ll take it seriously, I promise. I’m sorry.” He apologized again. “Okay. Now, you knew it was coming, so I have to ask. Who is she?”

Snowy blinked, and then said, “Who is she?”

“Yeah, who is she? What’s she look like?”

“Oh, don’t make it gross, David.” Snowy scrunched up his face. “Women are more than just…”

“Just what?” David grinned. 

“Tits and ass. There, fine, I said it, like an American.”

David made a noise of shock. “Snowy White! I’ve never heard you said such things.” 

Snowy thought David’s measures of attraction didn’t exactly apply in this situation, but he said, “They can be smart, kind, talented. Caring, compassionate.”

“And…” 

“And yeah, it’s nice if she’s hot.” 

“There we go. So, who is she?”

Snowy gulped and tried to figure out to answer without incriminating himself. Maybe he wouldn’t make it obviously Roger, but he wasn’t sure he wanted David knowing he liked girls and boys. He’d heard stories about David, true, and he figured if he revealed what he liked, David wouldn’t give him any strange, disgusted looks, but all the same…

“She’s tall, has a presence, you know? Smart, very smart.” Snowy stopped, unable to shake Roger from his mind, the image so strong and moving and infuriatingly gorgeous that chills ran through him. Heavily, he whispered, “She’s beautiful.” 

“Oh, Snow…”

“She’s beautiful, and she doesn’t even know it. It’s sad.”

“Does she know you love her?”

“I never said I loved her.

“You said you were in love,” David said. 

“Yeah, those are two different things, idiot,” Snowy spat.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I just wanted to know if she knew.”

Snowy shook his head. “No, no, she doesn’t. I’d die if she did.”

“Embarrassed, are we?”

“No, but she’s just so perfect.” He found it strange he could refer to Roger as ‘she’ so easily. “I don’t deserve her attention. She knows I exist, yeah, but I’m not even sure she likes me as a friend. It’d never happen.” 

“Don’t say that, Snowy. You’re selling yourself short, I think. Whoever she is, I’m sure you’re worth her. You’re a looker, if you don’t mind. But no name, huh?”

“No.” 

“Come on, please. I probably don’t even know her.”

“Georgia. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, man.” 

“Georgia.” David tested the name out on his tongue and laughed. “It’s pretty. And the way you talk about her, she must be gorgeous. What’s she look like? Don’t hold back, I don’t know anyone named Georgia.”

Snowy was smiling stupidly again, trying not to spill everything about Roger, but wanting desperately to tell David without being obvious. “Nothing special unless you’ve seen her, I think. Too amazing to put in words. Brown hair, these lovely green eyes. And her lips…”

“Oddly specific, but continue.”

“I can’t. Wouldn’t do her justice.” Snowy shrugged. They’d arrived at the cafe David had mentioned, and he seemed relieved it was still there. 

“They’ve the best breakfast, I swear. I couldn’t pay for some of it,” David said as he held the door open for Snowy. “Made friends with one of the bussers and he’d give me food when things got tight. Can’t imagine what it’s like when you actually have the money to buy it fresh and warm.”

Snowy thought it had to be some damn good food if David had eaten it out of the trash and still thought it the best in the city. 

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Certainly not,” David said, appearing almost offended Snowy would ask such a thing. “Don’t know her, doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve met. Regardless, just because I don’t know her doesn’t mean others won’t, either. Your secret’s safe with me, Snow,” he said. “I figure something out for you, help you get her attention.” A hostess seated them and handed them menus. “Merci.” He thanked her and smiled. Then he turned back to Snowy and snorted. “Really, who am I gonna tell? Roger?” He laughed, torn up over his own joke. “Fucking wanker, he is.”

Snowy could only sink into his seat and smile, but not over David’s joke or his prod at his bandmate. He was in love with Roger Waters, the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. And he’d sell his soul to be his. 

 

There was always a rush when they closed the show, perhaps even bigger than when they took the stage. They closed with “Us and Them”, and sometimes “Money”. Snowy liked that one the best. It had a groove, with Dick on the sax, David all throaty and rough about singing it. The entire song, of course, was carried by the bassline, and although Roger had a quiet finesse to playing it, it was loud and pounding and hit Snowy right in the chest. For something so heavy and deep, watching Roger play it made him feel quite faint. 

Tonight had been the best so far, and they’d built a frantic energy over the two hours they’d been playing. Roger seemed agitated, and while the audience didn’t notice, the band did. It wasn’t an angry agitation, just a restless one. Snowy was feeling the same way, hot and unable to stop from shaking. To see Roger across the stage, under the bright lights and the smoke, had Snowy’s stomach in knots and his head spinning. It was excitement, euphoria, that pulsed through him, straight from his gut to his fingers, so that each note he hit seemed to buzz with the same frenzied energy he felt in his body. 

Roger was delirious. Snowy liked to stay in the background of the stage, but occasionally he’d shuffle forward under the lights for his solo in “Pigs”, and if he and David had a particularly good rhythm going for any of the other songs, he’d stay where he was. Roger was transfixed in watching him, hoping he didn’t seem too obvious, stealing glances when he could at the breath-taking boy across the stage. He didn’t think he deserved to look at such beauty. 

Every once and awhile, Snowy would look up, too. Their eyes met and Roger felt weak at the knees, having to look away lest he burn up on the spot from being transfixed with such a gaze. It wasn’t right for mortals to stare at gods, he thought, and it was even worse to think the things he did when he watched Snowy play. 

They left the stage and closed their four-night gig, off to Munich the next day. Snowy desperately wanted to see Roger, to maybe ‘bump into him’, on accident, of course. He didn’t want to go running up to him, what would he say, but he didn’t want to lose him, either. Tonight, Roger didn’t seem to be in any of his regularly peevish moods, but that didn’t mean he was ready to go off and get wasted with the rest of the crew. He’d probably find some time to himself, and if Snowy infringed on that, he’d be struck down for sure. 

Roger, for his part, wanted to approach Snowy, and he at least had some things to say. He wanted to tell Snowy he’d played flawlessly tonight, that he was really settling into the feel of touring, that he’d impressed Roger. All of this was true, but the bigger truth was that Roger just wanted to see him, to be near him. In total honest, if Roger could have his way, he wanted to shove Snowy into the nearest dressing room, drop to his knees, and have him right then and there. But he settled for taking his time and waiting for just the right moment. He couldn’t be brash with this one; Snowy was a skittish thing. 

Roger put away his bass carefully, handing his case to a roadie and smiling at him. The roadie looked terrified, and scurried away, wondering if Roger had gotten into any of the hash or blow the crew brought along. Then Roger went into one of the dressing rooms and into the bathroom. He turned on the tap, running the water until it was freezing, before splashing it all over his face, trying to cool his hot, hot skin. He couldn’t breathe, the nerves of preparing to go and talk to Snowy making his throat close and his lungs feel tight and shriveled. When he was done, he left, flipping off the lights and quietly closing the door behind him.

The hallway was empty, but he heard voices approaching, and amidst Nick and David, he could that voice. He was laughing, and Roger thought it sounded glorious. The four of them met head on as Roger turned the corner, trying to look surprised. 

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry.” Even with his heart racing, he couldn’t shake his coolness towards David. “Should watch where you’re going, Gilmour.” 

David didn’t say anything, rolling his eyes. He attempted to keep walking and skirt around Roger, Nick and Snowy following. At the last second, Roger laid a long, lean hand on Snowy’s shoulder. Snowy jumped, and Roger swore he heard a breathless gasp escape him. 

“Hold back a second, would you?” Roger smiled at him, a little shaken at how Snowy just stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful. He was flushed and his pupils were blown, and Roger had to wonder if he was on something. “You okay?” 

“Fine, fine. I’m fine.” Snowy laughed, all high and nervous, immediately mortified at how awful he sounded. “I’m not in trouble, am I?” 

“Oh, no, you’re not in trouble,” Roger said, smiling in reassurance and thinking he looked a bit manic while doing so. “Not at all. Actually, I wanted to compliment you.”

“You coming, Snow?” David called from the end of the hall. 

“I’ll catch up, alright? Go ahead.” He didn’t want Roger to feel rushed. He wanted to stand in this hallway forever, even if it was dark and dank. If they got too cold, they could always hold onto one another for warmth. 

“Terence?” Roger repeated himself, watching Snowy get a very empty and preoccupied look on his face. “Terence, are you alright?”

“Oh, sorry.” Snowy looked at him suddenly, blushing. First, he was thinking of being held in Roger’s strong embrace, and then he realized Roger was right in front of him, in all his perfect glory. “I, um, sorry ‘bout that.”

“I just wanted to compliment you. You were fantastic tonight. You’re getting the hang of this touring thing. I was, and am, very impressed.” He hoped Snowy wouldn’t notice the shake in his voice. Beautiful, beautiful Snow White. The fairest, if he remembered the tale correctly. 

Snowy just stood there, agape, trying to get his brain to function again. Roger had complimented him, said he was impressed. Snowy was so overwhelmed he got dizzy. “I, uh, oh God, um…” Just spit it out, Snow, Jesus Christ. “Thank you.” Roger smiled at him, and he looked like he wanted to say more, but Snowy couldn’t stop himself now. “It means a lot, Roger, I hope you know that. You’re, um, you’re amazing, and I’m honored.” Snowy wanted to die, and he had to bit his lip to keep from running his mouth. God, he couldn’t use his words. He was usually so succinct about these things. 

But Roger only grinned broadly. Snowy could feel that same buzzed energy from on stage radiating off him. He didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Roger was just too perfect. He’d been sweating, Snowy noticed, and there was a sheen around his hairline. His shirts were always tight, but now, his top, the one with the pig on it, clung to his chest. Snowy wanted to push him to the floor, rip the shirt off, and kiss and claw and bite and suck until he devoured him and there was nothing left. He could see Roger’s arms, too, like the muscles and veins had been chiseled and carved and sculpted to perfection. A part of him wanted to seize Roger’s arms and hands and lick and kiss every vein he could see, maybe even bite him, suck out the blood if he could. A bigger part of him wanted to be pushed onto the nearest horizontal surface and have those strong hands wrap around his throat, squeezing the air out of him as they fucked like animals.

He said simply, “Seriously, thank you. Look, I gotta go.” _If I don’t leave soon, I won’t be able to control myself any longer._ “Thanks, Roger.”

Roger watched him walk, almost skip, down the corridor and turn the corner to catch up with Nick and David. He felt snubbed, like he’d done something wrong. He’d been so nice, and Snowy had just run off. But on the contrary, Snowy had called him ‘amazing’ and he, too, wanted to go off skipping and galloping. Him, amazing! Snowy, beautiful, divine Snowy had called him ‘amazing’. He thought he’d pass out. So off he walked, swinging his arms and trying not to break into song. Snowy would never go for him, certainly not, but for a while, he could pretend. And for a while, he could forget his sadness and anger and bitter unhappiness. He was in love. 

 

David was sitting on his hotel bed when he heard a knock at the door. 

He’d taken Nick and Snowy out to one of his favorite bars in the city, and they’d drunk their fill as the hour grew late. Eventually, Snowy had begun to yawn, leaning against Nick with a lazy, intoxicated smile on his face. Nick wasn’t drunk, and neither was David, but Snowy had had more than either of them. Around one, they’d guided him out of the bar and back to their hotel.  
“Gimme your key, Snow.” He wasn’t drunk enough to need support, but he swayed a little, either from the alcohol or exhaustion. David took the key he was handed and unlocked the room door, Nick ushering Snowy in. 

“Into bed with you,” Nick said, pulling back the covers and helping him down.

“I’m fine.” But it was a little slurred. He did manage to get his shoes and clothes off, stripping down to his underwear. Then he lay down and pulled up the covers, asleep before Nick and David had even left the room. Now David was alone in his room at two in the morning with someone knocking at the door. He got up slowly, cautious to answer, but thinking whoever it was most likely wouldn’t go away. 

It was Roger.  
The second they made eye contact, David knew why Roger had called on him so late. He was breathing heavily and his pupils were dilated, and he was void of shoes and shirtless. Roger closed the gap in seconds, grabbing David and tumbling into the room, kissing him. 

David managed to shut the door behind them, before pulling away and holding Roger’s face in his hands. “No, Roger, we can’t do this. We promised each other we wouldn’t.” He could smell the alcohol on Roger’s breath, could taste it on his lips and tongue, too. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”

“I can’t help it. Please. I need this,” he whined, trying again to kiss David, who leaned back and shook his head. 

“No. We can’t.” And it was true he sorta didn’t want to, and it had been more than a couple of years since they’d last spent the night together. 

“Baby, please. Oh God, please…” Roger did manage to kiss him again, crying the words into his mouth. When he was drunk, he sometimes became angry and enraged, but that was rare. Mostly, he just got fiery and hot and aroused. “Just once, please.” He said this all between kisses, holding onto David tightly. “I won’t ask you again, just tonight, love.” He’d begun to physically rub himself against David, clawing at him and kissing his neck. 

“Roger. Roger, no.” David tried to shake him off, but he was responding more, and as Roger became more and more vicious in his movements and ministrations, the growing throb in his jeans couldn’t be ignored. He still hated Roger, despised him, and yet he craved him. Just for one night. And never again. 

“David, please. Just fuck me.” 

David made up his mind then and nodded. “You’ve hardly ever asked me that, Rog. What makes you think I want to now?” He’d comply, of course, but it was fun to watch Roger squirm and beg, close to tears. 

“Just once, Dave. Please.”

“On the bed. Pants off. Now.” 

Their act was quick. Fervent and so hot, skin against skin, as they moved in the dark, with the slow creak of the bed, rising voices mixing with the sounds of the alive city outside. David kissed Roger’s neck, licked along his jaw, and spoke into his ear in low whispers, dancing between English and French, all of it dirty. And when Roger finally came, he sobbed, holding in the name that wanted to escape him. David next, and he breathed out Roger’s name, mouth pressed to his neck, lips against salty flesh. After, they lay together, intertwined and clinging to one another. Roger seemed tired and more audibly drunk, much like Snowy had, but David was wide awake, listening to him talk quietly. 

“I think I’m in love.”

“You know, if it was anyone other than you,” David said, “I’d be offended.”

“Yeah?” 

“But you always say means things to me, so it’s alright.”

“I do not.” Roger shook his head adamantly. “Never.” 

“Whatever you say, Rog.” It was easier to like him when he was drunk. He wasn’t as cranky and mean. “And who is it you’re so desperately in love with?” David kissed his temple. 

“This beautiful boy I met.”

“When?”

“Awhile ago. He’s gorgeous and so pretty.” Roger tugged gently at David’s hair. “He reminds me of you.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, but he’s sweet. You’re a miserable bastard, David Gilmour,” he slurred. 

“Thank you for that. You’re quite hideous yourself.” But David only hugged him tighter, wanting to enjoy every damn minute of it. This Roger, the kinder, more vulnerable one, rarely appeared, and David was sure that in morning, he’d be long gone, a nasty bitch of a man in his place. 

“I love him, David. You don’t understand how badly I want him.” 

David did understand, and it was déjà vu from a similar conversation he’d had the morning before. Then, he said, very quietly, only to himself, 

“I used to feel that way about you, darling.” 

“What?” Roger looked at him with heavy eyelids and parted lips. 

“Nothing, love. Doesn’t matter.” David kissed him in case he persisted, but Roger just deepened the kiss. After a good minute, he came up for air, panting. “Gonna wear me out, dear.”

“No. More.” Roger ignored David and insisted on kissing him again. “Kiss me more.”

David did, and while it was sloppy, it was affectionate. Full of love. Roger had started rolling his hips again, and David felt his hardness.

“No, Rog. We did that already, babe.” 

“Love me again, Dave. You’re so good to me. Oh, God.” He choked on his words as David shoved him back onto the bed, getting down between his legs. “There we go,” he whispered, running his hands through David’s hair. “I love you.”

As he devoted himself to the task of pleasing Roger, David smiled to himself, already thinking of how bittersweet the morning would be. Roger, back to his usual self. _You used to, Roger, you used to love me. You don’t anymore. But that’s alright. I see you’ve found another boy to keep busy with. I just hope he’s smart enough to know when to quit._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but it's significant and I wanted it to stand alone from everything else.

Over the next few months, Snowy and Roger continued with their fleeting and frustrating interactions, each of them more in love than the day before, yet none the wiser. David remained on the sidelines, unaware that his confidants, and those they claimed to be in love with, were right in front of him. 

There’d been the multiple time Snowy had seen Roger wink at him across from across the stage. Of course, he knew it meant nothing, and that he’d most likely imagined it. And if not his own imagination, then his misinterpretation of something brotherly and playful. Or all the times Roger would put his arm around Snowy and running those lean fingers through his flaxen hair. Always casual, always cool. Then there was the van ride coming back from one of the venues, in which Snowy had fallen asleep, head resting on Roger’s shoulder. As he swam in and out of sleep he could’ve sworn he felt Roger’s lips brush his hair, maybe even place a kiss on his head. But that was nonsense. 

It thrilled them to be close to one another, but in their own frenzies of desire, they were always awkward, navigating conversations and even a few subtle flirtations with little grace. In their own horror with themselves, any moves from the opposite side went wholly unnoticed.

They kept each other up at night, so hungry and desperate and alone they wished to beat their fists against the walls and cry themselves to sleep. 

At the end of the tour’s first leg, Roger had gone home to his wife and his baby and spent every damn minute thinking of Snowy. On the nights when Carolyne wasn’t in the mood, Roger would sulk and sit around in a nasty mood, not even Harry to lift his spirits. The only thing keeping him from going out to find a girl he could pay was that Carolyne would know. And she’d make his life hell for it.   
Snowy kept to himself for the month. He rarely went out, and when he did, it was to either drink himself into a stupor so frightful he could barely stumbling home or find someone to satisfy his hunger for the night. Sometimes, he did both. It wasn’t just the sex that frustrated him; it was that he was madly in love with what he couldn’t have. 

 

Miami, April, 1977:

“No, you wanker! I won’t!” 

“Come on...please.” 

2 a.m. and Snowy couldn’t sleep. He was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest and watching smoke spiral up from his cigarette. He could see in the half-light coming from the bathroom light that he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier when he’d staggered in to promptly puke in the toilet. It had only been a bit of alcohol, and he was feeling better now. The cigarette helped. Voices now, coming from the hallway, quite loud for such a late hour. He knew them well, and the second he heard the shouting, he’d leaped off the bed and pressed his ear to the door of his room. But they were quite loud, loud enough for the entire floor to hear them. 

“Go to bed. Leave me alone.” That was Roger.

“Please! Just for a few minutes, then you can go back to your room!” David. 

“Would you keep your voice down?” Still Roger, and he was shouting, ironically. 

“Please—”

“I said, I wanna be alone!” The last part was the loudest, and Snowy winced. He itched to open the door, just a crack, and peer out, but he knew they’d notice. Maybe they would. But he couldn’t risk it. Volume aside, he was awfully curious, if not confused as to what they were shouting about.

A door slammed, silence following, and Snowy waited until he heard another door open and quietly close, before stepping out into the hall. The door that had slammed had sounded closer than the other one, which was at end of the corridor, and closer one was Roger’s. It didn’t matter that they’d only be in Miami for one night. He wanted to know where Roger was at all times. Snowy went back inside his room and slumped against the door with his arms crossed and his cigarette in his mouth. There were times when he could handle his gnawing ache; other times he felt he was bordering on insanity. Tonight in particular. Maybe it was the heat, still muggy and smothering at two in the morning. Florida. Hot, stupid Florida. 

When he finally couldn’t take it any longer, he stamped out his cigarette and grabbed his room key. Then he left his own room and marched right on down to Roger’s, knowing he was making a big mistake and not giving the slightest damn. The door finally opened, and Roger stood there, looking down at him in shock. He had on sweatpants, but it was too warm for anything more, and Snowy felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Roger continued to stare at him, swallowing heavily, and he said finally, 

“Terence. It’s two in the morning.”

“You’re awake.” 

“Fair.” Roger smiled, his earlier anger at David melting away and a nervous buzz taking its place. If he could bounce up and down from excitement, he would. If he could kiss Snowy, right then and there, even better. “Would you like to come in?” Maybe Snowy would think it strange he was being invited in, but Roger saw an opening and he took it. 

“Oh.” Snowy held in a gasp. “Sure, thank you.” 

Roger stepped aside, letting him in. The room was clean, the bed untouched. He hadn’t unpacked, and he hadn’t even tried to sleep. 

“What, uh, has you up this late?” Roger asked, genuinely curious.

“I heard some yelling. Wanted to make sure everything was alright.” 

“Oh, David.” Roger rolled his eyes. “That’s just how he is.” He hoped Snowy didn’t ask what they’d been yelling about. “Our yelling wake you up?”

“No. I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep.” I was too restless, too busy thinking about you.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay if you’d like.” Immediately, Roger heard how suggestive that sounded. He found he didn’t care. It was about time Snowy figured out he was coveted. Snowy blinked rapidly when Roger said this, sure he was making an innuendo out of nothing. 

“Thanks. It’s lonely being awake by yourself this late.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Roger paused, then motioned to the room’s window, which was open. “C’mere, it’s cooler outside.” 

“My room doesn’t have a fire escape,” Snowy said, as Roger helped him through the window. “My window doesn’t even open. And the damn air conditioner is broken.” But Roger’s window did open, directly onto the fire escape, where they sat, squished together on one step. “I didn’t even know hotels had fire escapes…” 

Snowy shivered when Roger sat down next to him, unable to tear his gaze away from all that bare, smooth flesh. To make a bit more room, he put his arm around Snowy’s shoulder, almost holding him. As delicately as he could, Snowy leaned in, pressed against Roger’s chest. God, he wanted to kiss him. Then he wanted to take him to bed and never let him go.

“Don’t like Florida much,” Roger whispered. 

“You don’t like anything much,” Snowy whispered back. 

Roger laughed dryly. “I won’t deny it. But that’s not completely true, Terence White. I like you.”

Snowy had to look away. If he kept even with Roger any longer, with those piercing green eyes, he’d simply shatter. Split in two from painful, fruitless longing that would never be fulfilled. Heartbroken before he’d even had a chance to properly love. 

“I like you, too.” And when he said this, he did look at Roger, tears in his eyes. 

“Terence, are you alright? You’re crying.” 

“No.” Snowy wiped his eyes. “Sorry...it’s just...I’m fine, Roger, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” Roger tightened his half-embrace, pulling Snowy in. Then, Snowy began to cry. God, he was mortified, but he felt Roger hold him and he melted into it, sobbing. “Oh, Terence, shhh, s’alright.” Roger wasn’t sure what to feel. It hurt him deeply to see Snowy so upset. Another part of him, the conniving, lusting part, loved it, getting to comfort him. Exploiting Snowy’s pain to hold and touch him. 

Then a mouth was on his. Hot and wet, tears trickling down, salt on their tongues. Snowy’s small cries against Roger’s lips, and Roger found, as they began to cling and rub and touch and meld, that he was crying, too. They didn’t break away, barely bothering to breathe, but they didn’t care, as if they could sit and kiss until they grew old and died and it wouldn’t be enough. Finally, they separated, foreheads together, panting and still crying silently. Roger brushed away a few tears sliding down Snowy’s face. Snowy closed his eyes, and feeling Roger’s fingers on his face soothed him. He pulled Roger into the tightest embrace he could. Roger felt him shake. Snowy couldn’t stop crying, running his hands over Roger’s back and neck, holding him so close and with such love he thought they would fuse together, one and whole, as it was meant to be. 

Roger, by his ear, kissing the shell and whispering,

“I love you. Every since I first saw you, you stupidly beautiful boy, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rog. How much I’ve wanted this, you don’t even know.” 

Roger grinned, moving to Snowy’s neck, sucking and licking, speaking against his skin. 

“I’ve wanted you the most, love, more than anyone else before. Come to bed with me, would you?”

“Oh, God.” Snowy nodded, kissing him on the mouth again. “Yes, yes, I will. Make me yours, Rog. ‘S all I want.”

And so they stood, holding onto one another still, and falling into the room, just managing to close the window before tumbling onto the bed: delirious, blinded, and utterly foolish.


	5. Chapter 5

Anaheim, May, 1977

They played two nights in Anaheim. 

In the day, they roamed the city, becoming tan and loose under the beating sun, drifting down to the beaches to let the water lap at their feet and the salty winds mat their hair. Snowy had run out into the surf, and Roger had watched him, thinking he looked awfully young and beautiful. During the nights, they were alive, stage lights making them sweat, their music like sex, intertwined and intimate. It gave them a rush to play this way, their union at the center of the thousands that looked upon them. And in the early mornings, the city dark and quiet, they made love. Wild and excited, nothing more than the bed underneath them and the darkness around them. Nothing born out of raw need, not simply physical. An act of pure, utter love, drawn from within and expelled upon each other in fervor. 

 

_What does love feel like?_

The air conditioner was off, and the windows were open, sunlight hitting the bed sheets. Not unbearably hot, but warm. Arms around him, the embrace strong but comfortable. They fit well together. He could hear a city awake down below, but up here, in their own room, they were alone. Roger woke to small kisses pressed along his jaw, one occasionally landing on his cheek or the corner of his mouth. He opened his eyes, Snowy this close to him. So close Roger could kiss him, and so he did. Long, passionate, sweet. 

Snowy was staring at him when they separated, eyes glassy and half-open. His lips were wet and slightly swollen from the gentle attention Roger had given him, and he smiled shyly, burying his face in the crook of Roger’s neck and cuddling into him. 

“Morning, babe.” Roger smiled into Snowy’s hair. His only answer was the feeling of Snowy grinning into his neck. “Oh, don’t be so shy.” He shifted around on the mattress until he was on his side. “You woke me up.”

“You were still sleeping and I was bored.” 

“Or you just wanted have time with me now before we had to get up. What time is it?”

“Eight.”

Roger groaned and closed his eyes. “That’s so early. You kept me up last night, swear the entire floor heard you.”

“But you liked it.”

“I did.” Roger sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. “I need a shower.” He glanced over his shoulder, at Snowy still lying down, bare flesh against white sheets, hair spread around his head. “Would you like to join me?” Snowy’s smile was demure, and he burrowed into his pillow, blushing. There were times when Roger made him hot and hungry, bold and loud and shameless. Other times, he got all shy, as if he couldn’t believe he got to sleep next to a god every night, and to have a god look upon him with such love. It made him feel quite small. 

“Yes, please. I would love to.” He sat up, resting on his palms and leaning into kiss Roger on the mouth again. 

“C’mon. Shower time.” Snowy squealed when Roger suddenly grabbed him and just about carried him into the bathroom. He wanted to be humiliated, but it was too loving, Roger kissing his nose when he set him in the tub gently. He nearly screamed when the spray of water hit him from above, cold and stinging.

“Bloody fuck, that’s cold!” 

“There he is,” Roger said. “Not so nice anymore, are you? Morning, love.” 

“You fucking bastard. I want it warm,” Snowy growled, hair wet and hanging in front of his eyes. 

“Alright,” Roger said, messing with the shower handle until the water grew hot. “Stand up, would you? Need room for both of us.”

Slick, wet skin, licking and stroking and sucking. Snowy, slammed against the tile, Roger entering him in one thrust. He moaned, closing his eyes when he felt lips on his neck. Thin fingers pushing his wet hair off his face, Roger kissing his face. His legs shook and it was so _hot_ , and if not for the hands digging into his hips, holding him upright, he would've collapsed. When Roger hit him in just the right spot, deep and thick, he nearly screamed. Bit down so hard on his lip he drew blood. God, he couldn't take it much it longer. With a shout of Roger's name, he came, strings of white on his stomach already washed away under the water. He groaned when Roger came, too. 

"So hot, Rog," he whispered, chest heaving. "Oh my god."

Roger grinned into the crook of his neck, slumped against him, legs weak. He pulled out slowly and Snowy whimpered, suddenly feeling empty and sore, properly fucked. "So pretty." Roger kissed him. "A slut, too."

Snowy blushed and hid his face under tendrils of dripping hair. "Just wash me down, wanker. I came in here to get clean."

"Is that so?" 

Snowy smiled. "That, and the fact that you're a bloody good fuck." 

Roger laughed. "That's what I thought. Sit down, darling, and rest. I'll get you clean in no time."

 

Roger had left the hotel room first, with the specific instructions that Snowy meet him downstairs and out front in two hours. 

“Don’t care if you stay here or go out, but just be back by eleven, alright?” Then he’d kissed Snowy on the nose and left. 

So that’s where Snowy was, standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel, smoking a cigarette and wondering why he’d bother to be on time if Roger wasn’t here yet. He hadn’t even said where he was going.   
A low rumble could be heard from down aways in traffic, growing louder, and Snowy craned around to see better. It was a motorcycle, and Roger driving it. He guided it up to the curb and grinned. 

“Get on, babe.”

Snowy only stared at him. “A motorbike? Where’d you get it?

“Rented it for the day. Hop on, I know what I’m doing.”

“Where are we going?”

“For a ride. Just get on.”

Snowy did, gingerly seating himself and wrapping his arms around Roger’s waist. “You got helmets?”

“No. Just hold on, I won’t get you killed. If I did, wouldn’t have anything to shag every night.”

“Shh!” But Snowy smiled, even as the bike sputtered and lurched off into traffic. “Have some class, Rog. Like to think you love me for more than fact that I let you fuck me.” Roger blushed, and Snowy gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hold on tight, love,” Roger shouted over the roar of the engine. They’d weaved in and out of traffic, away from the heart of Anaheim, now veering toward an exit, merging onto the highway. He revved the engine and felt Snowy burrow into him. And off they sped, away from the city. 

 

The highway in front of them was empty. It had been for over two hours. 

The sun beat down, farther west in the sky, and the heat was blistering. Arid and bare, yet so much sweat. Snowy could feel it, a sheen over his face and neck, damp where he was pressed into Roger’s back. As they sped along, the wind blew his hair off his face and he smiled, closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. He wasn’t missing anything; there was nothing new to see. It was the desert, and it had been this way since the beginning of time. 

Here, they came from nowhere and were headed nowhere. Nothing moved, it barely rustled, the sky so clear and blue it looked painted on, and the sun crept along over them. The land didn’t change, pale, baked dirt and mountains dotted with bushes. But how they could grow was a mystery for there was no rain and there never would be. Empty and endless, as if this were the entire planet and they were the last on Earth. There was irony in that if you gave it enough thought. Snowy didn’t mind the isolation, the senseless way they rode along. Time without meaning was soothing, as they roared down the open highway on the Harley. He felt free, Anaheim far behind them. With it, his life, and he was alright to step out of himself for a while. There was desolate peace here. 

At dusk, a building appeared in the distance. 

Roger pulled into the parking lot, which was full of cars, and helped Snowy off the bike, their legs weak and backs sore. It was a roadhouse and there was music, the good blues, floating into the desert night. 

“Love the blues,” Snowy said, leaning against Roger. “It’s real, you know…” He closed his eyes and pushed his sunglasses onto his head. He heard paper rustling, the click of a lighter, a heavy sigh. Roger kissed his hair. 

“I’ve heard you play some mean blues yourself. Watched you. When you play, I can see it on your face. You feel it. It’s beautiful.” 

“Can’t play the blues if you don’t feel it. It’s like soul. If you don’t feel it, you don’t got it.” 

Roger walked over to the bike, kicking at the rocks and watching them skitter across the road. The sun hovered along the mountain ridge in the distance, sky aflame and angry. But in the desert, even the light felt empty. It touched his skin but he did not feel it. There were no cars coming and he ran out onto the highway, getting a strange thrill from standing on the yellow stripe with black pavement in front of him and behind. Then he just stood there, staring at how it filtered down to pinpoint and disappeared. He didn’t move for a long time, transfixed, the final heat of the day making the air shimmer, and he could feel the warmth of the tarmac under his boots. 

“You look like an angel,” Snowy called, but Roger wasn’t sure if this was in jest, or a pure compliment. He looked down at his dusty shoes, blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. 

“Making fun of me, Terence?” Roger walked back over to him, holding his waist. 

“No. Just with the sun, and you standing there like that. And take these off, I wanna see your eyes.” Snowy slid his aviators off, pocketing them. He grabbed Roger’s cigarette and took a drag. He glanced at the bike. 

“An angel on a Harley.” 

“Where you’d hear that?”

“Made it up. It’d make a good lyric. You should use it.”

“Writing my songs for me now, are we? First, it’s joining my band, and—” 

“Temporarily. Joining temporarily.” 

“And then—” Roger stopped, cigarette halfway to his lips. “Right. You’re here for the tour.” 

Snowy grabbed ahold of his hand. “There’ll be more tours, yeah? I’ll just come along if you need me.”

“We’ll always need you. Not sure how we got along without you before.”

“We’ve got a few months. It’s only April.” 

“Then we go home.” Home to my wife and my baby. “Look, not right now, let’s not talk about it. Out here, all alone in the fucking desert, and we’re thinking about the band. Not why I took you out here today.” 

“Why did you?” 

“Cause it’s nice. It’s so empty, untouched. It’s home to nothing, belongs to no one, but it’ll hold you for a while. You don’t stay, you roam. I like it.” He paused. “Stay anywhere for too long and you’ll take root. Can’t leave without ripping yourself away. If you spend all your time trying to make something yours, it’s owning you. Doesn’t work like that here.” 

“‘No one is free, for even the birds are chained to the sky.’”

“Make that up, too?” Roger looked at him. 

“No. Got it from Dylan, I think.” Snowy took his cigarette and pulled on it. “You wanna go in? It’s getting cold, and they’ve got the blues in there. Maybe some beer, if we’re lucky.”

“Careful.” Roger laughed, taking Snowy’s hand and leading him toward the entrance. “Don’t get me drunk. I gotta get us home. Plus, when I’m drunk I can get a little excited.” To prove his point, he gave Snowy a quick slap on the ass. Snowy yelped, red in the face. 

“Stop!” He laughed. “Can’t do this now, not when we get inside, either.” 

“Alright,” Roger sighed. “One kiss, then?”

Snowy nodded, holding his face and kissing him deeply, biting his bottom lip and tugging. He felt Roger smile, delve his tongue in, noses brushing. He opened his eyes barely, Roger looking back at him. 

“You’re the angel,” Roger whispered, his grin sly, and Snowy knew he was being mocked. “Why are you mine? You’re so pretty…”

“You,” Snowy said, kissing his cheek, “are, undeniably, the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. More beautiful than any girl I’ve seen.” _So pretty, you’re not even human. You’re a fucking god and you don’t know it._ “You’re pretty, strong—” He ran his hands over Roger’s arm, feeling the tense muscles and veins. “You’ve a brilliant mind. Of course I’m yours. Don’t think I’m worth you, but I’ve glad you took me.” 

“Oh, but you’ve it all backward.” Roger started towards the roadhouse again. The lights were on inside, and the music had picked up, raucous and loud, with drunken laughter pouring out the open windows. “Let’s go, Terry. Sounds fun in there.” 

“Don’t call me that.” But he grinned to himself nonetheless, liking how it sounded when Roger said it. 

They mounted the porch steps, and Roger lowered his voice. “I’ll call you anything I want. I’m kind enough to fuck you every night; I think you should be grateful.”

Snowy put a hand over his mouth, backing him into the wall by the front door. “Quiet. Stop that, or I won’t go let you go inside and we’ll go right back the way we came. No drinks, and I won’t fool around with you tonight, either.” 

Roger smiled under Snowy’s hand, wrenching it away, still grinning. “Who ever said I could find the back? What if we’re lost out here, huh?”

“No. You wouldn’t. You bastard!”

Roger laughed. “I’m kidding, love. Just get inside, would you? I’m hungry, and I need a drink. Hold me back any longer and I’ll make sure to get pissed, just to inconvenience you.” 

“You absolute wanker!” But Roger pushed him inside, and his insult was swallowed up by the music and laughter, just two faces in a crowded roadhouse in the California desert, only home to those who didn’t have one. Just ramblers and fools. Gods and the mortals they longed for. 

 

By eleven, Roger was a little drunk. 

He was flushed, his laughter loud, and he’d become increasingly comfortable, arm slung over Snowy’s shoulder in something wavering between brotherly and flaunting. Snowy felt a bit like Roger was showing him off, as if to say, _Look what I got, he’s all mine, and you can’t have him._ He found that after a few drinks, Roger was personable, friendly and not so fucking wired like he always was. Maybe it was that he intoxicated, or that he’d spent the day with someone he genuinely loved, or that he didn’t have David or the rest of the crew breathing down his neck. He’d gotten involved in a pool game, and Snowy had watched, liking it went he bent over to shoot. He’d won, even picked up some money, but he hadn’t displayed his usual ruthless competitive style. He’d shaken hands with his opponent, cracked some jokes, and gotten out of there, finding a quieter booth for him and Snowy to sit in. 

“How much you make?” Snowy asked, on his fourth cigarette and his third drink. The music had gotten even louder, and he had to shout. 

“Twenty bucks,” Roger shouted back. “Not too bad.”

“Wanna dance?” The floor was full, and the music was pretty good, too. Music was always better live. 

“Sure.” Roger raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Let’s go, luv.”

Snowy took his hand, hoping it didn’t look too romantic. They blended into the crowd quickly, and Roger, with alcohol in him, got loose. Snowy saw he could move pretty well when the groove was good. Or rather, he felt Roger get down to it, grabbed from behind, longs hands on his hips. Hardness pressed against his ass, and there was a thrill in being surrounded by so many people. It was warm, all the bodies moving, Roger against him. Even hotter when there was a voice by his ear, whispering the dirtiest things, a quick kiss on his neck. He wasn’t sure what he wanted: to push Roger away, fearing they’d be caught, or play along, It was a betrayal to choose the former, but he did.

“Not here, baby. Later. We can run the bike right off the road and I’ll have you in the dirt, but not here. There’s too many people.” Roger groaned against his ear, but he let go of Snowy’s waist, guiding him back to their booth. A slower song had started anyway, and he was fine to sit it out for a while. 

“Wanna have you now,” he whispered, no longer having to yell. It had gotten later, and there was a slightly smaller crowd, music quieter. “Go out back.”

Snowy shook his head. “Too risky. And no more drinks for either of us. Well, maybe a few more for me, but not you. I can’t drive that bike. If you get any more drunk we’ll be here until you sober up, and it’ll be morning then.”

Roger nodded, and leaned back, closing his eyes. An image drifted up in the darkness, so vivid he nearly gasped. Almost ten years ago, somewhere in London. Loud music, dark, the smell of sweat and sweet pot. A boy with him, hot and desperate, only wanting to please, not thinking twice about giving all he had. Roger wasn’t sure what had happened to the young thing he’d held in his arms that night. He’d hardened, stern and angry, and even through his drunken haze, Roger knew he was to blame. 

He opened his eyes, aware that Snowy was talking to him, but he wasn’t listening. All he saw was someone young, carefree, innocent even in his twenty-eight years. He was smiling, eyes alight, and seeing him this way made Roger feel quite old. Snowy was capable of darker thoughts, and Roger had seen the slight showings of a temper once or twice, but it was rare, and he was almost always happy. These days, Roger needed more than a few drinks in him to feel alright about things. To not be so fucking sad all the time. The trip to the desert had been a distraction from the tour. Snowy was a distraction from life. 

“Ready to go?” Roger asked suddenly. 

“Now?” 

Roger nodded and lazily ticked things off on his fingers. “We’ve gotten drunk, played pool, danced. Even made some money. We’ll be back before three.”

“Two? We drove for hours.” 

Roger laughed, climbing out of the booth. “Took us two hours to get into the desert. I spent most it going in big circles.”

Snowy squinted at him, following him out the door and into the cool night. “What?”

“Big circles. Took the same roads, all the looks the same out here. Couldn’t tell, could you? We’re about three hours out.”

“You’re lying.”

Roger stopped at the bike and took Snowy in his arms. “Get on and see.”

“The bike or your cock?”

Roger gaped at him. “Terence White...you’re mighty fun when you’re drunk. Might have to take you up on that offer. Drive for a while, have you on the side of the road.” Right by Snowy’s ear. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Snowy yawned. “Maybe. Kinda tired. Riding a motorcycle all day is exhausting. And I wasn’t even driving. You must be exhausted.” 

Roger held him tighter. “Just get on the bike and we can go home. I wanna sleep.”

“Thought you wanted to have me in the dirt,” Snowy murmured against his chest. Roger kissed him then, full on the mouth, in the parking lot of the roadhouse, the desert around them and a dark, starry sky above them. The moon was out, so bright it was like a second sun. 

“C’mon, love,” Roger said, climbing on the motorcycle and waiting for Snowy to get on behind him. “We’re going home.” _Home: hundreds of hotel rooms, leaving me feeling like more of a stranger in my own house than when I’m on the road._

Snowy got on, wrapping his arms around Roger’s waist, head resting on his back. He closed his eyes, feeling the bike kick into gear, starting up and pulling away from the roadhouse, music fading into the night. 

 

They rode for a long while. At times, he drifted in and out of consciousness, always awake but unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. Hurtling along, Roger as his anchor, and at one point, he’d looked up, millions of stars, spread out in a sky that seemed infinite. No cars passed them, and even with the wind rushing past his ears, it was quiet. At night, the desert seemed even emptier than during the day, black and endless and alien. He saw the distant lights of the city as the approached, the highway now with only a few cars to keep them company. The air seemed warmer, less dry, and he began to sweat, tired and sluggish from the alcohol. 

“How long you rent the bike?” He frowned at how Roger parked it right outside the hotel. “What if it’s stolen?”

“It’s two-thirty in the morning, and I’ll take it back before we leave tomorrow. And even if it gets stolen, I’ve the money. I’ll just pay it off.” 

“With what?” Snowy was only half-listening, exhausted yet not wanting to sleep just yet. Maybe another drink, a good romp in the sheets. Both sounded nice. 

“The twenty bucks.” Roger patted his pocket where his wallet was, and they laughed loudly. 

“Buy me another drink, yeah?” Snowy said as they entered the lobby, the bar still crowded with people.

“No.”

“C’mon, please. One more or I won’t have sex with you tonight.”

“Shh!” But Roger giggled. “Fine, one more, and then we’ll go upstairs. Just don’t be so loud.”

“Here or upstairs?” Snowy frowned.

“Both. Saying it’s one thing, having the whole place hear you is another.”

“Thought you enjoyed that. You said that this morning when you woke me up.” 

“I did, and I do, but shh. Now, what do you want to drink?”

The elevator was empty and they pawed at one another on the ride up, still kissing when the doors slid open with a quiet ping. Snowy had his hands down the back of Roger’s jeans, moaning at having his neck sucked and bitten at. They stumbled out into the hallway, holding onto one another and trying not to be too loud. Snowy was so drunk he nearly fell over, but Roger grabbed him, pulling him into a hug as they staggered along. 

“You’re fucking drunk, babe.”

“Am not.” Snowy shook his head. “Jus wanna go to bed, n’ sleep.”

“Not gonna fuck me?” Roger wasn’t as bad off as Snowy, and he’d restrained from having a drink downstairs at the bar, but he was exhausted to the point of madness, mind fuzzy and mouth open and loud. 

“Nope.” Snowy kissed him sloppily. “ I’m gonna sleep ‘n you’re not gonna wake me up, n’ I…” He drifted off mid-sentence, staring at the carpet. 

“Just a bit more, babe. You can make it. Then you can go to bed.”

“Gonna sleep for days.” Snowy let himself be dragged along.

“You’re gonna have _such_ —” Roger pulled the word out to prove the enormity of his point. “—a bad hangover. Dead, man.” And they roared with laughter. 

The bed was warm and inviting, and they barely had time to shed their clothes and slip under the covers before Snowy was fast asleep. Roger, curled on his side, watched him sleep. They left for Oakland in the morning. He’d always hated touring, it was awful, but now, after today, he didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want go back to his wife and his baby, to another album, to ‘normal’ life. He wanted to stay with Snowy. They could drift around together, start another life. Just anywhere that was new, where he wouldn’t be recognized or hounded after. He could live and they’d be happy. Sleep was tugging at him, and he shut his eyes, the sounds of the city below them distant and far away. Only Snowy’s gentle breathing and his own heartbeat. And in the very back of his mind, the low rumble of the Harley speeding through the desert.


	6. Chapter 6

Chicago, June, 1977

David stood with his fist raised for a good minute. 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to knock. He knew what he wanted and why he was here. It was the inevitable conversation he wanted to avoid. He knocked three times, knuckles hitting the wood like a gun blast to his ears. Then he waited, unsure if he heard more than one voice on the other side or just the murmur of his own mind. Roger opened the door a good minute since he’d heard the knocking. His face fell. 

“What do you want?” 

“Good evening.” 

“It’s almost one in the morning. Why are you here?” Roger stepped out into the hall, keeping one hand on the doorknob, but letting it close. David looked him up and down and said,

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“At one in the morning? You had all day, Dave. Tomorrow. Tell me then.”

“No,” David said. “Now. We gotta talk now.”

“Why? God, it’s late. Why…” Roger put his hand over his face, wanting more than anything to go back to bed. Snowy was waiting for him. 

“Not sure it’s something you’d want the crew hearing,” David said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There. It was out the table. He’d broached the subject; it was Roger’s job to run with it. 

To his surprise, Roger began to laugh. “You didn’t seriously think I’d talk about this with you, did you?” He seemed to find it genuinely funny. “You’re thick. Plus,” he shrugged, “What is there to talk about? It’s over.”

David changed the subject. “You got a girl in there?” He glanced at Roger’s bare chest, and how he’d zipped up his jeans but neglected to button them. 

“No.” Roger crossed his arms, unnerved by David’s staring. 

“Don’t lie. Send her off. Then we’ll talk.”

“Talk.” Roger snorted. “I haven’t got a girl.”

“My room’s got a balcony. We can go sit out there. Send her off and we’ll go.”

“I haven’t got a lady!” Roger frowned. 

“Why so defensive, huh?” David grinned slyly. “You didn’t pay for her, did you?”

“No!” Roger hissed. “That’s disgusting. I can do fine on my own. Don’t need to pay a girl if I want to fuck her. Wouldn’t let one near me...Just go to sleep, I wanna go back to bed.” 

“I’m not leaving until we talk.” 

Roger knew David wasn’t lying; he heard it in his tone. He wouldn’t leave, and they’d stand out here all night. Or he’d barge right into the room to make the girl go home, and he’d only find Snowy, naked and in Roger’s bed. 

“Fine, fine, we’ll talk. Just...just gimme a second.” Roger went back into the room. He fished around on the floor for his shirt, not bothering with shoes. 

“Where are you going?” Snowy sat up and watched him. “Who was that?”

“David,” Roger said, pulling on his shirt and buttoning his jeans. 

“What did he want?” Snowy grabbed the bed sheet and set it over his lap. “Are you leaving?”

“No. No, love, I’ll be right across the hall, just for a few minutes, m’kay?” He turned, taking Snowy’s hands and kissing the backs of them. “I wouldn’t leave you, babe. I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” Roger bent down and kissed Snowy on the forehead. “Then I’ll come back and we can finish what we were doing, alright?” 

“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

“Thank you, Terence. I won’t leave you.”

 

David sat in one of the chairs on the balcony. Roger stood at the railing with a cigarette, looking out over Chicago. 

“Not sure what you wanted me for,” he said. “Nothing to talk about.” 

“But there is,” David said.

“What? What is it you’re dying to talk about?”

David didn’t say anything, allowing the silence to grow. Then,

“What the fuck was that, Rog?” He saw the confusion on Roger’s face. “In Paris, man. What...why’d you ever think….”

“I was drunk!” Roger understood now, glowering when David tried to shush him. He hadn’t meant to shout, but he thought it something certainly getting worked up over. “I was drunk, and I didn’t know what to do, and you were there, and…” 

“So what am I then? You come in, drunk, ask me to fuck you—”

“Keep your voice down!” 

“—tell me you’re in love, and that’s the end of it. Four months and I hear nothing.”

“What was I supposed to say? Let’s make it again?”

“Some closure would be nice.” David got up to stand next to him. “Look at me, Roger. Look.” He brought a hand up and ran the backs of his fingers over Roger’s cheek. Then he flicked away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Roger’s eyes. Quietly, he said, “You’re beautiful, you know that? I’ve thought about you constantly since that night, went home to Ginger and Alice and thought about you.” He cupped the side of Roger’s face in his hand, and Roger instinctively nuzzled into his palm. Calloused fingers, broad palms, hands that had felt every inch of him. It was familiar. 

Suddenly, Roger turned away, taking a nervous drag and tapping his ashes over the edge of the railing. 

“Can’t do this, David. Not with you.”

“Rog…”

“Not just the sex. Can’t be out here with you, have you kiss me.”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?” David snarled. “Just wanted to talk. You know, this is just like you. So full of yourself you think I’m desperate enough to go to bed with you right away. You’ve got a big ego and I’m sick of it.”

“I am not—”

“It’s not even your pride that’s got you like this. You’re so deprived of a good fuck you’re finding whores now to do the job for you.” 

Roger lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking so that they were nose to nose. His eyes were wild and when he spoke, his voice shook with fury, spit flying. 

“I came to you that night because you were convenient. Because you’d say yes and wouldn’t ask questions. You’d still say yes, but I don’t need you. You’re mine, I own you, and you know it. You don’t get a say in when I have you and when I don’t.” 

“You don’t own me.” David stared him down. “I’m not yours and I never was.”

Roger let go of his shirt and slid a hand up under the hem, running over his stomach and landing on a scar along his ribcage. There was a shape to it, and it gave him a rush to feel it beneath the pads of his fingers. 

“As long as you’ve got this, I own you. You’ll have to be dead and six feet under until this is gone. As long as you’re living and breathing, you’re mine.” 

Roger removed his hand, wiping it on his jeans and grimacing. He flicked his cigarette over the railing and went back into the room. He was halfway out the door when David walked in, taking a heavy seat on the bed. 

“Sorry this didn’t go the way you planned. If you’re too disappointed about it, I’m sure your own hand will do the trick.” 

David flinched when he slammed the door behind him. 

 

“Everything okay, babe?” Snowy sat up in their bed, unsure if Roger had answered him. He was out on their balcony, smoking the last of his cigarette and surveying the city with a brooding look on his face. He’d come back from David’s room shaken and distracted. Even as he lay on top of Snowy, slamming into him, sucking on his neck, he’d seemed detached from the intimate act. They may have been intertwined physically, voices rising together in unison, but his mind was somewhere else. 

“Rog?” Snowy swung his legs out of bed, pulled his underwear on, and leaned out the doorway onto the balcony. “Roger, love, are you alright?”

“Oh.” He turned around. “Me?” Snowy nodded. “I’m fine, dear. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that. I didn’t hear you.” 

“S’alright.” Snowy smiled and stepped out into the warm air. He took Roger into his arms. “Everything okay? You seem a bit...off. Did something happen between you and David?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m tired, that’s all.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Roger, please. I’d like to think you trust me.” He rested his head on Roger’s chest and felt a hand start to rub his back. 

“I’m fine.” Roger kissed his hair. “It’s hard to explain. David and I go back a long way, into the sixties. It’s complicated. I don’t want to worry you with any of it.”

“You’re worried?” 

“No, that’s not how I meant it. There’s nothing to worry about. Just David being the prat he is.” 

Snowy laughed and untangled himself, ducking back into the room. Roger heard him messing with the clock radio until he found something he liked. It was slow, maybe a tad too romantic for Roger’s liking, but sweet. “Dance with me, Rog.” Snowy held out his hand and Roger took it. He pulled Snowy close, other hand on his back. He wanted it to be cliche, but it wasn’t. It broke all the rules, and he liked that. Two in the morning, on some hotel balcony in Chicago, his lover in his arms. Far from home, from Carolyne, from David. 

The song changed, still slow and soothing. He held Snowy tighter as they swayed from side to side.The stars were out, just a few, most hidden under the glow of the city. They were high up and in the distance, Roger could see the Navy Pier and Lake Michigan glittering in the distance. After a time, he looked down. Snowy had his eyes closed. Roger told him not to fall asleep. He shook his head and said he wouldn’t, a tiny smile on his face. When the song ended, Roger gently pried him off, half carrying him back into the room. 

“Time for bed.” Roger set him on the mattress. He switched off the radio and climbed into bed behind Snowy, spooning him. He sighed and buried his nose in Snowy’s hair. He could hear the city outside, still alive this late at night. They left for Missouri in the morning. 

“You’re so sweet.” Roger kissed his ear. “Glad you’re mine.” 

“Glad I’m yours…”

“You’ll always be mine.”

“Promise?” 

“‘Course, love,” Roger said. “As long as you’re living and breathing, you’re mine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Montreal, July, 1977

Snowy sat on top of a road case, off to the side of the stage and watching the scene unfold in the center. 

“You fucking idiot! Are you even listening to me?”

“You’re shouting, the whole damn city can hear you. Of course I’m listening!” 

“You dimwitted, fat, lazy—”

“I’m not even doing anything wrong. You’re the one who can’t sing, or even play. Got no talent, that’s the problem.”

“—son of bitch!” 

“Can’t stay on key to save your life, sounds like something’s dying when you open that muzzle of yours.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Look in the mirror, mate. Might as well strap a saddle to you, place our bets. And your teeth…” 

They flew at each other, and high up where he sat, Snowy saw them swarmed instantaneously, crew, band, and Steve rushing into the mix. He didn’t bother getting involved, wasn’t even sure what was  
happening. Just that they fought, and this was normal. 

When the crowd separated, evenly down the middle as if each were rallying either man, Steve had David by the collar of his shirt, Roger’s arms pinned behind him by about ten roadies. He shook with fury as  
if he’d cut loose and maul David if he could. Steve didn’t dare take Roger’s side. He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. 

“You bastard!” Roger spat, but he was limp, fine to shout but too tired for anything more. David gave him the finger, shook Steve off, and walked away from it all quite quickly, passing Snowy but not looking at him. He was upset, and Snowy knew he was mistaken to see David wiping his eyes. 

Snowy watched Roger stand at the center of the stage for a long time until he was alone, staring at his shoes and the ground beneath them. Snowy didn’t think he knew he was being watched. 

It’s how things were, how they’d become after he’d gotten back from David’s room in Chicago. He’d always been angry, and in his initial ecstasy, Snowy hadn’t noticed it in the past months. But it hadn’t left, and it grew more brutal each day. Roger was always lovely with him, during rehearsals, around the crew, when they were alone. The frightening part was that he could obliterate David and turn to Snowy, seconds later, a smile on his face with his voice soft and kind. Once, in New York City, he’d screamed himself hoarse during a soundcheck, yelling some of the most sickening things Snowy had ever heard. 

Then he’d taken Snowy back to their hotel, made sweet love to him, and spent the rest of the afternoon with him in the city. They’d almost been late to the show, causing the crew to have a collective breakdown, which Roger berated them for to no end. When no one was looking, he’d then kissed Snowy on the nose and told him he was pretty. Snowy didn’t see that man, the kind one, when they were on stage. Didn’t seem him when they were off stage, either. It left him wondering if Roger only let his guard down when they were alone, or if the man he slept next to was an illusion. 

“Sorry you had to see that, love,” Roger finally spotted him, walking over and looking up at him. “Didn’t mean to get so angry if I’d known you were watching.”

“S’alright.” 

Roger rested his head on Snowy’s thigh, feeling hands playing with his hair. “It’s not, though. I shouldn’t be so mad all the time. But, it’s just…”

“You don’t know how,” Snowy finished. “You’ve all this anger but how to get rid of it...”

“Wanna go have sex?”

Snowy laughed. “Would that make you feel better?” He didn’t worry about being overhead; they were alone. Roger nodded, starting to kiss Snowy’s thigh, leaving a trail until he’d reached the skin below Snowy’s navel, lifting up his shirt. 

“Okay then.” He kept petting Roger’s hair. “Let’s go. And don’t worry. One more show and we’re done. You can rest. It’s almost over.” 

 

Roger burst into Snowy’s dressing room. He sounded out of breath like he sometimes did when he aroused, unable to get on with it fast enough. They kissed then, hot and heavy, but refrained from going much further. They had to be on stage in a few minutes. Snowy didn’t ask why Roger had worked himself into such a heat. He didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t stop. 

Roger got behind him, sucking on his neck with his hands up the front of Snowy’s shirt, feeling his taut stomach. A groan escaped him, and he brought his hands up to grab onto the man holding him. 

“Play well, tonight, alright?” Roger whispered, lips grazing his cheek. 

“Don’t I always?”

“Make me proud, Terence.”

“Alright…” Snowy didn’t see why Roger insisted on talking. He couldn’t kiss if he was. 

“Shame me out there tonight. Don’t just make me proud. Shame me.”

That was when David walked in. Snowy felt Roger’s grip loosen, but upon seeing who it was, he tightened his hold again. So tight Snowy couldn’t breathe. Roger didn’t stop kissing him either, lips still working at his neck and jaw. Snowy squirmed under David’s gaze. It was accusatory, hostile. Years later, he’d realize there was envy there, too. Roger’s arms around him didn’t feel comforting. Just a penitentiary of strong arms and long fingers. 

“Shhhh. Shh, luv, don’t struggle. S’alright.” Quiet, in his ear. David didn’t seem to hear the individual words, but his fists tightened, clenched at his sides. 

“But...but, he…” Snowy whimpered. 

“Just be glad it wasn’t someone else. I’m going to let you go now. It’s okay.” Roger’s arms dropped away and he stepped back, still watching David. “Terence, leave the room, please.”

Snowy didn’t protest, he just ran, feeling David’s eyes following him out the door. He heard the door shut quietly, then shouting, but it was indiscernible, and he clamped his hands over his ears. He felt childish doing so, but he didn’t want to hear it. Embarrassed tears welled up in his eyes and he began to cry, mortified, sinking down to sit on the ground, in some dingy backstage hallway of the Olympic Stadium. They had to be on stage in minutes, but that was inferior now. He hadn’t meant to out Roger like that, to have him be seen with a man. And his own band member, no less.  
Snowy could only be glad it was almost over. He wasn’t sure he could’ve lived through months of ugly glares shot his way under stage lights, in hotel hallways, in the backs of cars, vans, buses, at mealtimes. They’d almost gotten away with it. Too good to be true. 

Of course, he didn’t get why David seemed so angry, either. Uncomfortable, sure. Shock, no doubt. It couldn’t be out of disgust. Snowy had heard the stories. Disgust with them would be disgust with himself. 

The door opened, and David stepped out, slamming it behind him. His chest heaved and he had tears in his eyes. When he saw Snowy sitting on the floor, he didn’t say anything, just gave him scathing look, one that was both blistering and pained. He walked off, but before he rounded the corner, his sobs were audible. Roger came out a minute later, but his eyes were dry, and for being the most irascible of the lot of them, he seemed unruffled. He sat down next to Snowy and held his hand, kissing the side of his face. 

“I’m sorry.” He pulled Snowy into him.

“Why are you sorry?” Snowy sniffed. “S’not your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Why is it your fault? I should’ve locked the door. Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” Roger held him tighter. 

“Say, why did you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“He walked in and you didn’t let me go.”

“Did you want me to?”

Snowy grimaced at how Roger dodged his question. “No, I just…”

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” Roger started wiping his tears away, kissing his face as he did so. “He won’t tell anyone. Still our secret.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Snowy took a shaky breath, trying to will down the lump in his throat. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. To out you like that. ‘Cause now he knows and you didn’t want that and I didn’t mean to and…” He put his hands over his face. He was crying again. 

“Terence.” Roger gently stroked his hair. “Terence, look at me. Look at me, please.” Snowy shook his head, and Roger felt a flutter of annoyance. But he swallowed it down and reminded himself to be patient. Snowy was young, after all. Didn’t know what he was caught in the crossfire of. Childhood and stardom, and a whole lot of other things he’d never understand.  
“Terence, please.” Snowy finally lifted his head, eyes and nose red from crying. “Oh, poor thing.” Roger smiled and helped him to his feet, holding his face so that he couldn’t look away. 

“He already knows, love,” Roger said. 

“You told him?” Snowy’s voice cracked as he tried to refrain from shouting. “About us?”

“No. No, no, no. God, no.” Roger shook his head, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean it that way, I’m sorry. Just that he knows about me.”

“He does?”

“Yes. He does. Years ago, when we could still stand each other, when he liked me, I told him. So he knows. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” He looked at Snowy hopefully.

“I didn’t?”

“No, no, you didn’t, sweetheart.” Roger hugged him again. He held the back of Snowy’s head, petting his hair. “And I am so sorry for doing that to you. Just because he knows about me doesn’t mean it’s alright for him to know about you.”

“He was mad at me,” Snowy whispered into Roger’s chest. “Did I do something?”

“No. Not at all. You know how he is, the nasty git.” Roger laughed, glad to hear Snowy laughing, too. “S’like I said to you in Chicago. We go back a long way, and it’s all very stupid and hard to understand and I  
don’t want to bother you with even a bit of it.” 

“C’mere.” Snowy kissed him, still a bit sad and worried, but wanting the feel of Roger’s mouth on his. It was familiar, soothing. “So he won’t tell anyone?”

“If he hasn’t told anyone yet, he never will. Got plenty other mean things to say to me, but I think I deserve them sometimes.” He’ll never tell, because if he does, I will, too. “S’almost over. We go home tomorrow. Best we leave him alone for now.” Roger took his hand and stood, leading him down the hallway, towards where they waited to go onstage. “C’mon. I think we’ve a show to play.”

 

_“Oh, for fucks sake, stop lettin’ off fireworks and shouting and screaming. I’m trying to sing the song!”_

Only one song in. Turning, trying to smile, tears in his eyes. Flinching at another crack, wizz, bang. Lips to the microphone again, voice booming over the stadium, blind fury. 

_“I mean, I don’t care, if you don’t wanna hear it, you know, fuck you. I’m sure there’s a lot of people here who do wanna hear it.”_

He wanted to hear it. To be reassured, to hear peace in a man sounding so ill. Didn’t want to sleep with a madman. 

_“So why don’t you just be quiet, and if you wanna let your fireworks off, go outside and let them off there and if you wanna shout and scream and holler, go out and do it out there.”_

Quieter now. Tired. 

_“I’m trying to sing a song some people want to listen to.”_

Bright lights watery, he couldn’t see. He blinked. Goldtop, with tears on her fretboard. He wanted it to end, so he didn’t have to hear him. Wanted to throw his guitar down, and curl up, hands over his ears. Didn't want to listen any longer. 

_“I want to listen to it.”_

 

_"Come back! All is forgiven! Come on, boy! Come on, son!"_

He’d spat on him. He’d just leaned over and spat on him, right in his face. Then he’d turned and smiled at Snowy, laughing like it was funny. Up to the microphone, watching the boy be dragged away, calling for him, jeering at him. Caustic. Biting. All against the backdrop of Rick and his keyboards, the band determined to play on. It was like Roger knew what he’d done and maybe even knew it was wrong and didn’t care. He enjoyed it, the supposed immunity. Found satisfaction and pleasure to trample, beat, and humiliate those below him. It was fun for him. Snowy found it macabre. 

He knew it should’ve disgusted him. It should’ve had him ending things the second they got back to the hotel, maybe even at intermission. Roger, his love, his darling Roger, the beauty he slept with every night had spat on someone. It was despicable, but it didn’t shake Snowy the way he wanted it to. It was merely dark and powerful and strangely compelling. 

 

They stepped off stage for intermission, and Snowy was immediately grabbed by the scruff of his neck and tugged into a dressing room. He knew it wasn’t David, who’d ignored him the entire first set, and seemed to try to play over him. Which was most likely true. Then he’d darted off his own way, and Snowy hadn’t seen him since. 

“On your knees.” Roger was volatile, and it came as little surprise. Tears, anger, heat. For a moment, Snowy stood there, just needing a second to adjust. When Roger saw this, he repeated himself, clapping his hands to show he was impatient. “On your knees.” Snowy obeyed, dropping to his knees and waiting. He knew what was about to happen, _Pigs_ still thundering around his brain. It had a filthy quality to it, and from down here, Roger standing in front of him, he did, too. “Open.” Snowy opened his mouth. Roger undid his jeans and slid two fingers between his lips. “Suck.” 

Snowy did, gentle at first, but he could feel Roger’s displeasure, and he worked harder at it until he heard a moan and murmurs of approval. Kept sucking when it wasn’t Roger’s fingers, but his cock. Snowy never looked away, staring up at him. Hands tugged his hair, and forcing him down even when he choked and tried to pull away, panicking. A soft voice, telling him to breathe through his nose, fingers brushing his hair off his face. Rough now. There was no love in what was happening. It was only brutal, like how Roger had sounded out on stage, his rage now expressed physically. 

He came with a low groan, holding Snowy in place. Then he pulled out and zipped himself back up. “Swallow.” Snowy swallowed. “Lemme see.” Roger grabbed his jaw and forced his mouth open. Smiling, Snowy stuck his tongue out. “Good boy.” Roger smacked his cheek a few times. Snowy’s grin was radiant with pride. 

Then Roger spat in his face. 

He left after that, not looking back, Snowy still kneeling with saliva sprayed across the canvas of his cheeks and nose. His face burned with shame, but the spit was cool on his skin, and he shivered. He sunk onto the floor, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. For the second time that evening, he thought this should have broken him. Thought he should’ve hated Roger for it. That it was perhaps worse he spat on someone he loved rather than a stranger. But it was simple, and he didn’t bother lying to himself. He’d liked it. It had excited him, being subjected to oppressive power. 

Snowy stood, wiping off his face once more and straightening himself. He had to go back out there and face David. Had to face Roger, too, in whatever state he was in. He was vitriolic now, and he would regret what he’d done, off his power high and beside himself. Maybe he wouldn’t, but Snowy thought he would. And if so, he’d be unsure of how to tell Roger he’d liked and that he wanted to do it again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two
> 
> Snowy and Roger, finally home to London, establish a new set of rules...

London, September, 1977

Sunlight came through the window, thin and fragile. His flat was laced with a chill, even with the heat, and when the sheets were off him and Roger wasn’t on top of him, he was cold. That’s how he was now: blankets yanked away and his hands tied above his head, leaving him naked and covered in gooseflesh. Roger came back into the room with a towel and he took a seat on the bed, untying Snowy’s wrists and wiping him down. 

“How was that, babe?” Roger got him to sit up, cradling him. He kissed his cheek. “Everything okay?”

“Wonderful,” Snowy whispered. 

Roger started gently rubbing the red imprints on his wrists. “Didn’t hurt too bad?”

“Hurt a little,” Snowy said meekly. “But I liked it.” 

“And you’d tell me if it hurt too much?” Roger looked at him under long lashes and put their foreheads together. 

“Yes.” Then he corrected himself, feeling Roger’s hands tighten on his wrists. “Yessir.”

“Good. You’re too sweet to me.” Roger gave him another kiss, this one on the corner of his mouth. Snowy didn’t think so. As if he had a choice. Well, he did, technically. But it was more fun to pretend he didn’t. He liked the struggle, the impending punishment if he didn’t submit. Once, he’d gone an entire visit with immaculate behavior. Then, with Roger all dressed and halfway out the door, he’d slipped up, called him ‘Roger’. He’d promptly been stripped from the waist down, flipped over the knee, and spanked. 

Roger went into the kitchen to get him some water. When he came back, he handed Snowy the glass, pulled on his underwear and jeans, and rummaged around in his bag until he found what he was looking for.   
“Want some, love?” Roger held out a joint. When Snowy nodded, he lit the end and took a pull before handing it over. “This should calm you down.” 

“Didn’t mean to be so loud earlier,” Snowy said. 

“If I didn’t want you screaming like that I would’ve gagged you.” 

Snowy shivered and took another pull to hide his embarrassed smile. Roger still got him with comments like that, even though he’d be saying them for months now. Roger kissed him, pushing him back onto the bed and wrestling the joint from his fingers. Snowy grinned and ran a hand down Roger’s back, stopping at his arse and squeezing. Roger bit Snowy’s lip and tugged, before sitting up, straddling him. 

“And what makes you think you can touch me like that?”

“Because I can.”

“Don’t be cheeky.” And they laughed. Roger got off him, licked his fingers, broke off the cherry and ground the end of the joint into the ashtray on the nightstand for good measure. 

“You’re leaving?” Snowy watched him put away his things and pull his shirt on. 

“Carolyne’s expecting me. Said I’d be home by four.” 

“But….” Snowy screwed up his face in a petulant expression. 

“Don’t pout, Terence.” Roger took his hands and kissed his forehead. “Just be glad I could stay this long. She thinks I’m at the studio today and I tell her that every time I come to see you. If I’m not careful, she’ll realize we haven’t even started on the album yet.” 

“But, you…”

“None of that.” Roger suddenly grabbed him and held him up. Snowy, half wrapped in a bedsheet, felt two strong arms supporting him and he locked his legs around Roger’s hips. “Any more and I’ll have to punish you.” 

“I can take it.”

“Really? Even if it’s me leaving and not coming back for weeks on end? I’ll miss Christmas and the New Year and Valentine’s Day. Maybe even your birthday.” 

“You wouldn’t last.”

“No,” Roger sighed, still holding him up. “But don’t give me attitude, Terence. Not sure where all this disrespect is coming from.” He frowned at Snowy, who kissed him. “And I’m not sure why I’m letting you get away with it. Alright,” he said, untangling himself and putting Snowy on the bed. “I’m leaving. Gimme a kiss.” 

“Yessir.” Snowy did. “See you later.” 

Roger smiled at him, picking up his bag and leaving the room. Quiet for a while, as he put on his jacket and shoes, then the front door slammed. Silence followed, and Snowy sat on the bed for a long time. The empty sunlight on the white sheets was stagnant. It would be dark soon. He could draw the shades, turn on the lights, get a record going on the player he kept in the corner of the living room, make some food. Take out his Goldtop. He might just go to sleep. The shorter days always made him listless. Roger was gone, at least for tonight. And without him, Snowy was cold. 

 

London, November, 1977

Roger had taken Snowy out to lunch. He’d said he’d wanted to take him home after, have him meet Carolyne. Snowy hadn’t objected, he was curious. Sometimes he forgot Roger had a whole other life. 

The house wasn’t all that big. Bigger than Snowy’s flat, but nothing excessive. And why should it be? There were only three of them. Roger pulled the car up and helped Snowy out, giving the front windows and empty sidewalk a once over before kissing him quickly on the cheek. 

“C’mon.” He turned and started up the front steps. “Let’s go.”

“Yessir,” Snowy said automatically. Roger stopped and looked over his shoulder. 

“None of that, Terence. Careful.”

“Sorry.” Snowy bit back another ‘sir’. Even when they’d been out earlier, and on the other rare occasions they were in public, Roger had wielded a commanding presence. The way he looked at Snowy, hovered behind him, murmured quiet orders to him. He was under constant supervision, and if he stepped out of line, there’d be hell for it. Maybe not immediately, but once inside his flat…

He didn’t think they could get away with that in Roger’s own home. Roger rarely spoke of Carolyne, but he’d painted a picture of a smart, perceptive sort of lady. She’d notice.Snowy thought it strange Roger just unlocked the front door and walked right in, but then he remembered Roger lived here. Came home here every day, to his wife and his baby and whatever it was he did when he wasn’t across town in Snowy’s flat. How odd.

“Carolyne?” Roger called into the quiet house, met with the sound of footsteps growing louder until she appeared at the end of the hall, smiling when she saw him. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, one arm around her when she extended a hand to Snowy.

“Hello, I’m Carolyne, Roger’s wife. You must be Snowy.”

“Hello.” Snowy took her hand. 

“How lovely to meet you.” She shook Roger off. “You should’ve introduced me.”

“You did it yourself.” 

Carolyne scowled at him. “Don’t be rude. We’ve a guest.”

“Eh.” Roger waved his hand dismissively. “He doesn’t mind. He’s heard me say worse. He’s grown. Doesn’t bother him.”

“Just because it doesn’t bother him doesn’t mean it’s not rude. I’m terribly sorry.” She looked at Snowy. “Don’t know what’s gotten into him. He wasn’t like this earlier, was he?” 

Snowy laughed. “It’s quite alright.” 

Carolyne smiled, then gave Roger a withering glare. “How about I put some tea on, check on the baby, and we can talk?”

“I’ll do it,” Roger said, patting her hand. “You just get the baby. Terence?”

“Yes?” 

“Would you mind helping me?” Roger started off down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“No. Not at all.” Snowy wondered what Roger would do if he refused. Of course, he was too polite in nature to say no, but all the same. He was curious to see how far he could go under the safety of Carolyne. 

Roger didn’t say anything as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove. When he was sure Carolyne had gone upstairs, he grabbed Snowy and kissed him full on the mouth. Then he turned back to his task, smiling to himself to see Snowy there, shocked. 

“I thought you told me to be careful.”

“I said you needed to be careful. I can do whatever I want.”

“If she catches us…” 

“She won’t.” 

“You’re not being safe. If she catches us and—”

Roger suddenly grabbed Snowy’s jaw, staring into his eyes and forcing him to look. “If you don’t stop right now, I will beat your arse so hard you won’t walk for days.” Snowy swallowed, staring up at Roger, wide-eyed. “Am I clear?” Roger let go of him and repeated himself. “Am I clear?”

Snowy nodded, about to whisper a ‘yessir’ when Carolyne walked in, a baby on her hip. Roger’s anger melted into a broad smile at the sight of his baby, who smiled back, but it was rather lopsided and without too many teeth. 

“Snowy,” Carolyne said, turning off the kettle before it could whistle. “This is Harry. Say hello,” she whispered in her baby’s ear and he lifted a tiny hand. Snowy waved back, 

“How old?”

“About a year,” Roger said, setting out three cups and beginning to pour. 

“He wouldn’t go down for a nap, I do apologize,” Carolyne said to Snowy. 

“Oh, no. I don’t mind babies. He’s cute.” 

“Carry one, would you?” Roger handed Snowy a teacup, and he followed Carolyne into the living room. 

 

“So you were on this last tour?” Carolyne asked, Harry in her lap. They’d sat down and it was the first question out of her mouth. Harry watched him, fascinated with someone he’d never seen before. Snowy sipped his tea, but it was hot and he burned his tongue, biting back a noise of pain. Carolyne didn’t notice, but Roger did and under his breath, he said,

“Karma.” 

Snowy glowered at him, then smiled at Carolyne. “Yeah, I was.”

“And not before?”

“No. They had me come in about a year ago, play a bit, and I guess they liked me.” 

She laughed. “Roger talks about you all the time. Says you’re very talented.” 

“I’m alright. Now you’ve got me worried he’s made me more than I am.” 

“You’re a blues player, yes?”

Snowy grinned at Roger, who said nothing. “My, he has told you a lot.”

“And are you on this latest album?

Snowy balked at that. There was no album. It didn’t exist. At least not yet. For the first time, seeing her sit there with Harry in her arms, Snowy felt guilty. “Oh.” He faltered and Roger cleared his throat. “No, I’m not, actually. Just for the tour.”

“Are you doing anything now?”

“Jesus, Carolyne. Leave the kid alone.” Roger put a hand on Snowy’s knee. 

“I’m interested. You talk about him a lot and I’m glad to finally him.” Snowy cocked an eyebrow at Roger but said nothing. From the hallway, the phone rang and Carolyne heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes and standing. 

“Here.” She handed Harry to Roger. Then she left. 

Regardless of how he felt about his father, Harry seemed put off to have his mother walk away, and he began to sniffle, tears welling up in his eyes. Roger stared at him as if he were a bomb about to explode, unsure of how to handle a tantrum. Harry let out a small cry, and Roger panicked. 

“Here. Give him here,” Snowy said. He held out his arms, and Roger precariously handed the baby over. “Yeah, there we go. Shhh…” Snowy cooed, rubbing Harry’s back. “Don’t cry. She’ll be back.” This seemed to work, and Harry beamed at him. 

“Oh, so he likes you.” 

Snowy didn’t say anything, wondering if a baby would beat back any threats Roger might toss at him for ‘attitude’. It’d be too weird he said something, even if Harry couldn’t understand them. They could hear Carolyne, her words muffled, but she seemed quite preoccupied and Roger said after a while,

“You look good with a baby.”

“What’s that mean?” Snowy gently pried Harry’s fingers away from his hair. 

“You look good. It’s natural. Like he’s yours, not mine.” 

Snowy grinned and kissed the side of Harry’s head. “He’s sweet.” 

“Except when his mum leaves. Then he cries.”

“Now you know how I feel every time you leave.”

“I’m not your mum. And you cry when I’m with you.”

“Only cause of the stuff you say to me, and I like that.” Snowy paused. “No, but when you leave, it makes me feel very abandoned.” He laughed to show he was kidding. 

“Darling, if I stayed any longer than I usually do, you’d be incapacitated.”

“Not possible,” Snowy said, feeling Harry squirm. He began to rock from foot to foot to soothe him. “You’ve tried and it doesn’t work. I was alright.” 

“Numb from the waist down?” Snowy nodded. “Bloody?” Another nod. “Sore arse? That time I almost strangled you? Even when I flogged you?” Nods on each one. “Not even the time I punched you?”

“Only cause I asked you to.”

“I split your lip.” 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t feel it. Mouth was numb.”

“That’s because…” Roger leaned in and whispered the rest into Snowy’s ear. Snowy took a step back, blushing. 

“I’ve a baby with me, you know.”

“I suppose.” Roger kissed Harry on the nose and then did the same to Snowy. “My two beautiful boys.”

“Shush.” But he could hear Carolyne still on the phone. 

“Kiss me then.” Before Snowy could protest, Roger kissed him full on the lips. Carolyne wouldn’t catch them. That was what made it so fun. When he pulled away, Snowy was smiling, biting his lower lip, a bit flustered. “Pretty thing…” he murmured. 

“Yessir,” Snowy whispered, unsure if he felt so dirty because of the baby in his arms or that he was standing in Roger’s home, his wife just around the corner. Probably. 

“Let’s go soon, yeah? I’ll drive you home.”

“And when I get home?”

“I’ll fuck your brains out. Make it hurt. You’ve been a right little bitch today.”

“Baby,” Snowy reminded him, looking at Harry.

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot my own kid. Hand him over.” Roger took Harry and kissed him on the head. They sat back down just as Carolyne came into the room. 

“Right where I left you.” She sighed, sitting next to Roger, who put an arm around her. “Sorry about that. It was Juliette. Something about Rick.”

Roger rolled his eyes so hard Snowy saw only whites. “You ready, Terence?” 

“You’re leaving?” Carolyne stood again, taking Harry. “I didn’t mean to leave you both like that. And I’ve only just met you.” She smiled at Snowy.

“No, s’alright. He’s gotta go,” Roger said. 

“It’s been wonderful meeting you,” Snowy said and shook her hand again. “And you’ve a lovely baby.” Harry giggled and wiggled his fingers at Snowy, who waved goodbye to him. 

“Bye, Harry!”

 

Roger was the silent for a good portion of the ride, but towards the end he got impatient and started rubbing Snowy’s thigh, one hand still on the steering wheel. When Snowy subtly spread his legs a bit, Roger gave him a wicked grin and slapped the inside of his thigh, making him groan. 

“Hell, slut, hell. That’s what you’ve got waiting for you. Think you can disrespect me like that just because my wife’s around?”

“No sir.” 

“Good answer.” 

The next morning, Snowy couldn’t remember much after the door of the flat closing behind them. Being told to strip, slapped around when he wasn’t fast enough. Taken right there in the living room, the cracked plaster on the ceiling above him. A hand around his throat, squeezing until he saw black. There was more. Tied up and teased, yet denied the release over and over again until he broke down into tears. Called a slag, whore, filthy bitch. A shower after. So exhausted Roger had to hold him on his feet. Dried off, swaddled in towels, then soft clothes and warm blankets. Roger brought him food, kissed his face all over, held him tightly. They fell asleep when the shadows were long, wrapped in each others arms in Snowy’s small bed. When he awoke, it was dark, and Roger was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

London, January, 1978

 

“Come over.”

“What?” Snowy asked into the receiver. He heard Roger heave a sigh and say,

“‘Excuse me, sir, may you please repeat that?’”

Snowy rolled his eyes, glad Roger couldn’t see him. Then he mumbled, “Excuse me, sir, may you please repeat that?”

“Good boy. I said, come over. Carolyne’s gone for the week and I want you to spend it with me.”

Snowy didn’t bother asking if he had a choice in the matter. He knew he didn’t. Not that he’d mind spending a week with Roger, of course. “Where’s Carolyne?”

“Up at her mum and dad’s for the New Year. Took Harry with her.”

“Oh. When will she be back?”

“In a week. So pack your things and I’ll pick you up in two hours. We can leave your stuff at home and then go to dinner, so wear something nice.”

“Yessir.”

“Okay,” Roger said, “Now go pack and I’ll see you soon.” The line clicked dead. 

 

Dinner was unusual. 

The hostess had given them an odd look when they’d walked in together, but the restaurant itself hadn’t seemed particularly romantic. Snowy wasn’t sure what her problem was. Their waiter found it strange Roger ordered Snowy’s meal for him, which Snowy found horribly embarrassing. No wonder he gingerly took the check as if it were dirty; Snowy was almost two months away from turning thirty and being treated like a child by the grown man across from him. Other than that, it was nice. Not having to say ‘sir’ all the time was a relief. 

It was snowing when they walked back to the car and during one stretch of empty and dark sidewalk, Roger took Snowy’s hand in his. Looking both ways, Roger kissed him and then continued on. 

 

That was Sunday. Roger told him to unpack his things but make sure not to lose anything. He wanted Snowy to feel at home, but if Carolyne found anything, especially anything in the bathroom or bedroom, it would all fall apart.

Then Roger took him to bed. 

Had his fill in the only way he could. Rough, unforgiving. In the end, Snowy was sobbing, screaming that it hurt, oh god it hurt, but don’t stop. Please, sir, don’t fucking stop.   
They had a bath after, and Roger dressed his wounds and kissed him all over. Held him tightly and said he’d never let go. Before he helped Snowy to bed, he changed the bedsheets, hiding the old set and telling himself to burn them before Carolyne came home. There was too much blood to simply scrub away. 

 

The enormity of it all hit Snowy the next morning, when he awoke in Roger’s arms, pale, winter sunlight coming in from the east. 

This was Roger’s bedroom. Carolyne slept here, on the very side of the bed Snowy had the night before. He thought their affair, if not excusable, at least something they could disregard in a sense. It had stayed on the road, in Snowy’s flat, only crept into Roger’s home during a few chaste kisses and words exchanged while Harry was around. Now, Snowy was in Roger’s bed, in place of his wife. Momentarily, he felt so guilty he thought he’d be sick. He hurt all over, sore and battered and he was nauseous and Roger around him suddenly made him feel quite claustrophobic and he could just about fucking cry. 

He tried to move and untangle himself, either to throw up or at least rouse himself and clear his head. Roger grunted in his sleep and held on tighter. Snowy whimpered, so upset he didn’t know what else to do, and his sounds of distress woke Roger. He blinked once or twice and looked at Snowy with confusion until he saw the pain and panic on his face. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He spoke softly, letting Snowy go and giving him some room, but still softly stroking his hair. “What’s wrong?” Snowy looked at him for a long second, his initial anxiety already beginning to ebb. His queasiness melted away and he swallowed heavily. “C’mere. Lemme hold you. S’okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Snowy cuddled into him, nuzzling into his bare chest. Kisses, all over, Roger whispering in his ear. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you upset?” Snowy didn’t say anything and Roger continued. “Did something scare you? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? Are you sick?” He asked all this slowly, seeing Snowy shake his head to each one. 

“Some water, please, sir,” Snowy said finally. 

“None of that now, Terence. I’ll get you whatever you’d like. Are you hungry?”

“No.” 

“Okay,” Roger said, and Snowy uncurled himself, falling back onto the pillow. His pillow. Her pillow. “One second, I’ll be right back.” He stood, pulling on his underwear and leaving the room. When he came back, Snowy sat up and took the water, drinking it down and setting it on the nightstand. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Terence.”

“I call you that because I want to. I’m yours,” Snowy said, smiling at him. 

Roger kissed the side of his face. “You’re mine, love. Never forget it.” Snowy hugged him, and they sat this way for a long time, not speaking. He still felt guilty, but Roger made him feel safe, and he could hand over control. They wouldn’t get caught; Roger was too clever and smart for that. He’d keep Snowy hidden. Together forever. An eternal secret. “Do you feel better?” Roger whispered eventually. 

Snowy nodded. “Yessir. Thank you.” 

Roger made a noise of sympathy and kissed his hair. “Will you lie with me? Just for a while, Terence?” It said a lot he asked for permission. Most of the time, he simply took and Snowy gave. There was no option to decline. Snowy was here to serve. 

“Yessir.” 

Roger lay back on the bed and Snowy did likewise. He shuddered when Roger pushed back the covers and crawled down between his legs. 

“I’ll be gentle, darling,” he said, kissing the inside of Snowy’s thighs. “You’ve earned it.” Snowy could feel him smile. It was easier now, to not think of Carolyne or his guilt. He closed his eyes and put a hand on Roger’s head, fingers running over his hair. What did it matter then, that she slept here with her husband every night, their baby a room away. Roger loved him. Sometimes he liked to think Roger loved him the most. And to him, it was true. 

 

In the evening, snow beginning to fall, the moon on the rise, Roger came into the living room with a box. It was dark and thin and square, the sort of box for jewelry. Snowy was seated on the couch, facing the fireplace and watching the fire they’d built earlier. He’d gotten hot and taken his shirt off, and when Roger sat next to him, Snowy knew he was staring. 

“I have something for you,” Roger said, setting the box on his lap. 

“What is it?” Snowy looked at him warily. 

“Open and see.” Roger handed him the box and watched as he lifted the lid. It was a band of black velvet with a small gold clasp in the back. It wasn’t more than a centimeter thick, either. Roger picked it up and unclasped it, fitting it around Snowy’s neck so that the latch was hidden behind his hair. “You may take it off once you leave, but I’d like you to wear it for at least this week.” Roger ran his fingers over the band. It stood out against Snowy’s pale skin, tight and encircling his neck. 

Roger had collared him before. Always temporarily, when they played their games and he clipped a leash on so that he could drag and tug Snowy along however he wanted. But this collar served no such purpose. This was to mark him as owned. 

Snowy got all fluttery when he thought that. He belonged to Roger and no one else. It was a surprisingly nice thought. He felt loved. 

He kissed Roger on the cheek. “Thank you, sir.” 

“You like it?” Roger raised an eyebrow. 

Snowy nodded, smiling. “Yessir. 

“Good.” Roger closed the distance between them, pulling Snowy onto his lap, the box falling to the floor. “Kiss me.” Snowy did. He held on tightly when Roger scooped him up and carried him upstairs to the bedroom, bridal-style. Then Roger was taking his trousers off and it was warm, skin on skin, sweat and salt, collar still fastened around his neck. He fell asleep with it on, unaware that Roger tucked him into bed and went downstairs. Roger had planned to check on the fire; if it was only coals he would’ve gone to bed. And it was, but outside there was snow, and he put on his coat and stepped into the night. Brushed off a dusting on the front steps and sat, street blanketed with white and the moon hanging overhead. 

All was quiet, and he lit a cigarette. He’d been meaning to quit, but he’d just never gotten around to it. David had. No cars passed and even the silence felt muted, the mantle of snow smothering London until the morning.He wanted this. The chance to be alone. Time for himself, with his own thoughts. No wife, no baby, his lover inside and fast asleep in his bed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He sat outside for a long time, smoking down his pack, ashes falling into the snow around him. When he went inside, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but that didn’t matter. Snowy was still asleep. He didn’t even stir when Roger climbed into bed next to him and held him. Held him until he, too, was asleep, all through the night and late into the morning. 

 

There was one night, about three days before Carolyne came home, that Snowy remembered through a haze of exhaustion and confusion, although he’d cared little and didn’t mind. Half awake, with Roger climbing on top of him, kissing his jaw, whispering for him to spread his legs. 

“Legs open, pet. Lie still. Won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Yessir,” he’d mumbled, eyes still closed. He’d drifted in and out of consciousness, crying aloud when Roger thrusted deep inside, stretching him and sending waves of pleasure through his body and sleep-addled brain. Snowy wasn't sure he could take all of Roger. It hurt.

“Oh, fuck…” Roger had kept his voice quiet, occasionally kissing and suckling at Snowy’s neck, the skin around his collar. 

Everything went away for a while, and he barely remembered his release, just a dark room and a strong body over him. Heat. He hadn’t minded Roger hadn’t asked him; he rarely did. Snowy knew his place. Loved it. Could go to his grave a servant and he wouldn’t care. Not one bit. 

 

In the afternoon, on Thursday, Snowy sat in the corner of the living room, Goldtop was in his lap and he plucked away at her strings, a lazy, meandering melody spilling out into the silence. He hadn’t bothered with an amp, but it was loud enough to hear from all the way across the room, where Roger was, reclining on the couch. 

“S’pretty, darling,” Roger said, eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach. 

“Thank you, sir.”

He kept playing, and after a while, he thought Roger had fallen asleep. Then there was a whistle, like how one might call a dog. Roger was sitting up now, beckoning him over with a long, thin index finger and smiling. 

“C’mere, luv.” He patted his lap, and Snowy set Goldtop down, crawling across the floor and climbing onto the couch. He straddled Roger’s lap, putting his arms around his neck and smiling when Roger kissed his nose. Snowy rolled his hips and he could feel the bulge in Roger’s jeans. He put his hand over the denim, but it was pushed away, Roger’s mouth finding his own. “Patience, Terence. You’ll get yours soon enough.”

“Yessir.”  
They kissed, _snogged_ , until they couldn’t feel their lips. How long they did this, they didn’t know. Rarely, it seemed, they did this separately from sex. And it was nice, getting to just enjoy one another without rushing upstairs to the bedroom. They didn’t stop, barely coming up for air, just kissing as if it were the only left they could do. When the doorbell rang, they were so lost in each other that they didn’t hear it. Only when it rang a second time did Snowy pull away, staring over his shoulder. Red, wet lips, and glassy eyes. 

“Leave it,” Roger said. “They’ll go. S’not important.” Snowy did as he was told, but it rang again, and although the tone of it couldn’t have possibly changed, there was an air of impatience to the whole thing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Roger lifted Snowy up and put him on the couch. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

“Yessir.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, and I won’t even let them in the house.” The doorbell rang again, and Roger shouted, “I’m coming!” Snowy was scared. He trusted Roger, knew it was probably no one important, but what if   
they did get in the house? What would he do? Run and hide? Act as though he was only visiting for the afternoon? Roger would take care of it; he always knew what to do. “What are you doing here?” 

“Hello.” A chill ran through Snowy. David. “May I come in?”

“No.”

“Carolyne’s not home, is she? Shouldn’t be a problem then.” Snowy could hear the smugness in his voice, and it took all he had to stay put and not go scurrying upstairs to the safety of the bedroom. 

“You can’t come in. I’m busy,” Roger said.

“Oh, be a good sport, Rog. Just for a few minutes. I want to talk.”

“No, no you can’t. You—” But it seemed that David had forced himself through the open door. Snowy heard footsteps in the hall, coming closer, and he was so scared his throat grew tight, palms already slick with sweat. David would know why he was here. In fact, Snowy hadn’t seen him since Montreal, a good six months ago. They last time they’d had any direct conversation was when David had barged in and caught them in a way quite similar to the present. 

“Snowy. What do we have here?”   
Snowy looked up to see David leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a very nice smile, eyes narrowed. His gaze drifted down to Snowy’s neck, and he sneered. “Hullo.” Snowy looked at his feet. 

“So this is what you’re busy with?” David asked, Roger appearing behind him. Roger didn’t say anything and sat down next to Snowy, throwing an arm over his shoulder. 

Snowy whispered in his ear. “May I go, sir?”

“No. Stay with me.” Then, to David, “What is it you wanted?”

“Not sure this a good time.” The phrase was polite. His tone wasn’t. 

“Whatever you can say to me, you can say with him here.” Roger kissed Snowy’s temple, trying to calm him. 

David laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’ll come back later. In the evening, perhaps?”

“You won’t be back.”

“Or will you still be busy? Keeping him around permanently?”

Snowy frowned. They spoke as though he wasn’t in the room. He wasn’t Roger’s primary focus of attention. 

“Just get the fuck outta here.” Roger stood, and Snowy gave a tiny mewl, grabbing for him. But this went unnoticed and Roger ushered David out of the room without looking back. 

“What do you want?” Roger said quietly, now that they were alone and on the front steps. He didn’t have a coat on and he shivered. 

“I think you should reconsider what we talked about.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago, when I ran into you in town.”

“No,” Roger said. “Out of the question. Not only do I have him,” he jerked a thumb at the house, “to deal with, but I’ve Carolyne and Harry and…”

“Nothing serious, mate. I’ll keep it convenient.”

“No.” 

David’s face darkened and he lowered his voice to a growl. “Two weeks. Think about it, Roger. If I don’t hear from you by then, I go public. And this,” he pointed to living room window. “All falls apart.” He turned and walked off, disappearing around the corner, words still hanging in the air like the clouds of breath that came out of Roger’s nose and mouth. David wasn’t kidding. If Roger didn’t agree to what he wanted, he would tell everyone. Carolyne, the band, the public. And Roger’s career and marriage would disintegrate. Just like that. Labeled unfaithful. A fag, fucking a poor, young session musician who hadn’t known any better. Snowy would be the victim, of course. So would Carolyne. David, the hero. Roger would just be kicked the curb and left to rot, reputation sullied, life smashed to bits. 

David, now, was the only thing holding it all together.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a darker turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TW for what happens at the end. It's in the tags.)

February, London, 1978

Roger visited Snowy two days after Valentine’s Day. 

Said he was sorry he couldn’t be with him on the day itself, and that he’d wanted to, but there was Carolyne to think of. 

When they finished, Roger treated him to a bath and an actual, formal dinner. It was dark out, and he asked Snowy to sit with him on the small couch in the living room. 

“Want one?” He held out a pack of cigarettes, and Snowy took one, letting him light it in a very gentlemanly way. “So,” he took Snowy’s hand in his, rubbing it and massaging his fingers. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Snowy said, taking a pull and leaving the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The way Roger spoke made him suddenly nervous. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“Hope, sir,” Roger corrected. 

“Sorry, sir,” Snowy said. “Nothing too serious, I hope, sir?” 

“Depends on your definition,” Roger said. “But I don’t think it’ll directly affect you all that much.”

“No, sir? What is it, then?”

Roger took his hand again. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but there was never a right time, darling.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over the side of Snowy’s face. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course, sir,” Snowy said, stomach heavy. 

“Carolyne and I…” he faltered, swallowed, and continued. “Carolyne and I are going to be having a baby.”

Snowy looked at him. 

“The baby’s due in April.”

Snowy kept staring. 

“If it’s a boy,” Roger said, getting nervous, “We’ll name him Jack. If it’s a girl...I don’t know yet.” 

“That’s great,” Snowy said. “Just...great.” 

“Really?” Roger gave a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah. I mean, yessir. A baby. In April.”

Roger smiled, and Snowy smiled back, playfully blowing a cloud of smoke into his face. “You’re going to be a father.”

“Already am. I’ve got Harry.”

“Yes, but, two kids. Different than one.”

Roger nodded. Then, 

“That why you haven’t visited as much?”

Roger sighed at the pain in Snowy’s voice. “She’s seven months pregnant, darling.”

“I suppose.”

Roger stood and pulled on his jacket. “Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re leaving, sir?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back home. Kiss,” Roger said, bending down. Snowy kissed him on the cheek. “Good boy.” He ruffled Snowy’s hair. “I’ll visit as soon as I can, alright?”

“When, sir?”

“I don’t know.” It came out surprisingly impatient. Snowy screwed up his face, hurt. When Roger saw this, he said, “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. That was mean.”

“S’alright, sir.” Snowy knew Roger hadn’t meant it.

“Okay, then. I’ll see you as soon as I can,” Roger said, halfway out the door already. “Goodbye, Terence. I love you.”

“Goodbye, Sir. I love you, too.”

The door of the flat closed. And when he was finally alone, Snowy began to cry. 

 

Snowy had finally calmed and gotten on with his evening when Roger pulled up to another flat, this one on the opposite side of town. He’d had the flat since he was younger, and Carolyne wasn’t expecting him home until much later. He’d lied to Snowy about that. 

He knocked a few times, at first thinking he was early. But the car he’d learned to recognize was parked outside and he knew the door would open. And it did, David waiting for him. 

“You’re late,” he said, ushering Roger inside. “Why’s that, love?” He tugged Roger’s shirt over his head. “Wouldn’t let you leave, would he?”

“He did, but he was upset.” Roger kissed him, pushing him towards the bed. 

“Insatiable slut.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Roger said. He’d just about gotten rid of his own pants, moving on to David’s. 

“You do, I bet. Used to say that to me.” David wound his hands through Roger’s hair. The air was cool on his legs when Roger pulled his pants off. “Now look at you.”

“I used to say that to you, but if you gave me this sorta piss back then I would’ve beat you.” 

“Can’t. Part of our agreement. Plus, it’s much better this way.” His words caught in his throat when Roger took him in, teasing the head and licking up the length. “You’ve got him to push around. Your toy to play with. Your bitch.”

“He’s got a name, you know.” Roger kissed the shaft. “You sound jealous.” 

“Am not. Just…” David grabbed Roger’s hair. “Stop talking or I’ll shut you up myself.”

So Roger did. It was nice to please once and while. 

 

London, March, 1978

Roger invited Snowy over again. Carolyne wasn’t there and neither was the baby. Snowy didn’t bother asking why. Roger had said it wouldn’t be long-term, either. Just for the night. 

It was cold, wind bitter and howling, shaking the windows in their frames. Roger suggested they light a fire. Snowy agreed.

It was late when they got it up and running, flames roaring, heat pouring into the living room. They sat close together on the couch, not speaking, for there was nothing to say. Snowy complained he was hot.   
Roger told him to take his shirt off. He did. At midnight, Roger left the room and came back with a chair, situating it so that it was facing the fire.

“Sit.”

“Yessir.” Snowy sat, smiling at Roger hopefully. He knew there was more to their relationship than just the sex, they loved each other after all, but he was tired of sitting around. He didn’t see Roger as much  
anymore. Wanted to feel him. 

Roger left the room again and came back with rope, binding Snowy’s wrists to the arms of the chair. When he was finished he grinned and brushed Snowy’s hair behind his ears. 

“Beautiful.” Then he backhanded Snowy across the face. It hurt and Snowy groaned, a familiar tingling rising in his gut. He enjoyed Roger hitting him. Roger pulled a black bundle of fabric out of his pocket  
and folding it to his liking. Then he placed the strip over Snowy’s eyes, tying it behind his head. Snowy smiled and heard Roger walk away and out of the room. Only the crackle and sputter of the fire remained and after a good five minutes, the silence became unbearable. It made Snowy uneasy. A bit scared. Then the footsteps returned, and he called,

“Sir?”

A muffled clunk of something being set down and Roger said,

“Shh, I’m back. I didn’t mean to scare you, leaving you like that.” He kissed Snowy on the forehead. A rustle, then the sound of the coals and wood being moved. 

“Sir?” Snowy had begun to sweat, neck and chest glistening.

“Just the fire, Terence. Now we wait.”

“For what, sir?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Up until now, Snowy was sure he’d gotten along asking as many questions as he wanted, but Roger’s word was law.

“Yessir.”

 

For thirty minutes Roger teased him. Hot breath over his equally hot flesh, tongue lapping up sweat, obscene whispers in his ear of all the things that awaited him once they were upstairs and in bed. It was infuriating and why Roger made him wait, he didn’t know. More than once he’d struggled against his restraints, taunted with Roger just out of reach, and he would slump back against the chair, tears of frustration springing up in his eyes even if they couldn’t be seen. 

“Alright,” Roger said eventually. “I think we’re ready.” Snowy whimpered, feeling a thumb trace his bottom lip. “Such a pretty slut…” Snowy leaned forward and caught Roger’s thumb in his mouth, sucking. Roger stepped back, a line of spit running down Snowy’s chin, which he wiped away. Still, Snowy could not see, inhaling when fingers ran over his chest. Fabric suddenly present, perhaps Roger’s own shirt, wiping away the sweat. “You know,” he said, “I would gag you, but I like it when you scream and cry.”

Snowy was confused. Footsteps over wood, Roger sighing, messing with the fire again. A tense moment of utter silence, Roger drawing a breath. 

Snowy screamed. Hot, searing, blinding pain so fucking hot it felt ice cold. Head thrown back, mouth open in agony, screaming. It was as if his sternum had been set on fire. A smell reached his nose, enough to make him retch, and the initial edge of pain left him. It still burned, the skin between his breasts and there was a clang, metal tossed onto the polished stone in front of the hearth. Snowy was hysterical, stuck between crying and taking huge gasps of air, sobs lodged in his throat. Tears had formed under the blindfold and it the absence of sight only aggravated his panic. Confused, in so much pain he couldn’t think straight, unable to see, unsure of where Roger was. 

He screamed when hands began to untie his wrists. It didn’t hurt, but his heart was racing and he couldn’t breathe. Then the blindfold was gone, Roger staring into his eyes with worry, trying to gauge his condition. 

“I’m here. Baby, I’m here. S’okay.” Snowy would have tumbled onto the floor if Roger hadn’t held him up and he collapsed into his arms, careful not to have anything touch his chest. It still hurt and his eyes watered from the receding pain, only an echo of what he’d felt seconds ago. 

“Oh God,” Snowy choked out. Roger helped him to the floor so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling, vision blurred with tears. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and a hand came to rest on his stomach, soothing him. “It hurts.”

“I know, babe. I know. It will pass.”

Snowy was hot all over and it was too much to talk, so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Roger, gone and back again, a glass brought to his lips, the harsh bite of whiskey on his tongue. He drank until he’d drained the glass, collapsing back onto the floor. Slowly, the living room melted away, drink and exhaustion pulling him someplace dark and numb where he could not see or feel. 

That was all he remembered, unaware that Roger carried him up to bed and fell asleep beside him. Unconscious until morning, a ‘W’ branded into his chest, marked for eternity.


	11. Chapter 11

London, April, 1979

“I have to go away for a while,” Roger said. He’d bought Snowy a larger bed back in January, and while it took up much of the bedroom, it fit both of them comfortably. That was where they were, facing each other on the pillows with the sheets pulled up around them. 

“Where?” Snowy asked. “How long?”

“France. Just until we finish the album. We’ve gotta get out of the country for a while.”

“How long?” Snowy persisted. He hoped it wasn’t too long. He could go maybe a month. Two if he really pushed himself. Every since the new album had begun, they’d seen one another less and less. It made some sense. Roger had kids to care for, too. There’d been one stretch of time, last year, between August and November where Roger hadn’t visited. Not once. Snowy had begun to think he’d been forgotten. He’d told himself that was silly. Roger was busy. Snowy couldn’t expect him to always be around. 

“Until we finish the album, love.”

“How long?” Snowy cried. 

“Terence. Do not speak to me like that. I don’t know how long. If I did, I’d tell you.”

“Sorry, sir,” Snowy mumbled. Roger pulled him close. “When do you leave?”

“A week.”

“How long have you known?”

“Three weeks.” 

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, baby.” Roger gave Snowy a kiss. 

“Will you call?”

“Of course. Whenever I can, I’ll call you. I’ve gotta keep you in line somehow.” 

Snowy giggled. “Don’t be silly. I’m yours.” He guided Roger’s hand to rest in the center of his chest. “Forever.”

“That’s right, boy. Mine. Until the end.”

 

Roger did, in fact, leave a week later. The night before he and Carolyne and the kids were scheduled to get on a plane for Nice, he said goodbye. 

“Can’t stay for long,” he said, in the living room of the flat. He didn’t bother to take his coat off.

“No?” Snowy asked, trying to ignore the disappointment he felt. 

“No. I’ve got some packing to get to. Gotta put the kids the bed.” 

“Not even for a little bit?” Snowy put his hands on Roger’s waist and smiled up at him as temptingly as he could. He was used to begging, Roger made him beg all the time, but never for real things. If he wanted to come so badly, he could do it himself. He didn’t think his right hand would keep Roger from leaving in the morning. “Please, sir?”

“No,” Roger said, but he looked down at Snowy with sympathy. Snowy narrowed his eyes and dropped to his knees, hands still on Roger’s waist. 

“Not even like this?” Snowy gazed up innocently.“Please, sir.”

Roger shook his head and yanked him to his feet. “No.” He failed to sound patient. 

“But, sir…”

“Terence. I need to go.” Roger kissed him. He tried to pull away, but Snowy held on, and he allowed this for only a few seconds. “I love you, Terence.”

“Love you, too.” Snowy hugged him. “You’ll call me, right?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re back?”

“The second I get home.” 

Snowy felt a lump form in his throat. “I love you,” he said, hugging Roger once more, feeling a hand come up to hold the back of his head. 

“Love you, too, Terence. Now,” he said, gently prying Snowy off him. “I really do have to go.” 

It took all Snowy had not to throw himself to the ground and cling to Roger’s legs. “Okay. Okay, alright. Yeah, you gotta go.” He was crying now. 

“Oh, baby, don’t cry. Please.” Please don’t make this any harder than it already is. Roger gave him one final kiss on the lips and opened the front door. “It’s not goodbye, love. It’s only ‘see you later’, okay? Only goodbye if I never came back.”

Snowy nodded, biting his lower lip to stop the quivering. He just wanted Roger to leave now. Not because he didn’t want to be alone, to have the love of his life go off to France, but because he didn’t want Roger to see him cry. Of course, Roger had seen him cry before, often pushed him to tears. But he’d wanted that, enjoyed it. Now he cried because he was sad. It was embarrassing, being so emotional. He wanted degradation, humiliation, the shame that came with it. But this, crying now, was childish. Even a week ago, hearing that he was leaving hadn’t felt real. Now it did.

“Goodbye, sir,” Snowy said, offering a watery smile and trying to laugh.

“Goodbye, Terence.” 

And the door of the flat closed, Roger melting into the night, leaving Snowy to crawl into bed, curled around his pillow, sobbing.

 

London to France, May, 1979

Snowy made the first call. It had been a month, yes, and he knew Roger was incredibly busy, but he hadn’t called once. Snowy wasn’t even looking for a lengthy conversation, just a few minutes so he could hear Roger’s voice. He’d left a message or two, and once, Carolyne had picked up, but all three times he’d tried to be ambiguous. If he kept calling, it would be suspicious and he couldn’t risk it. He’d just be patient, engage himself in other things, and Roger would call in no time. But Snowy made the first true call, waiting anxiously as the line rang. It was costing him, calling France, but more than ever he wished Roger would pick up, prayed he would. He had something exciting for once. 

“Hullo?” 

In one word, Snowy felt weak at the knees. How he’d missed that voice. 

“Hello,” he said, unsure if he should add a ‘sir’. It had been a while. He was out of practice. 

“Who’s this?” 

“Sir…” Snowy half-whined into the receiver. 

“Terence….forgive me, darling.”

“S’okay.” Snowy paused. “You haven’t called. You said you would.”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy and it’s stressful and I completely for—”

“I’ve news!” Snowy said, interrupting. In his excitement, he’d forgotten his manners, but Roger didn’t chastise him for it as he normally might have. 

“What is it, babe?” He sounded like he was smiling. 

“I tried to call you earlier, but Carolyne picked up and I didn’t want to have her tell you and—”

“What’s the news?” Roger asked. He was glad Snowy couldn’t see his face, twisted into mild annoyance.

Snowy took a breath and said quickly, “I’ve been asked to be in a band.” The silence that followed on the other end of the line worried him, until Roger said, 

“That’s great. What band?”

“Thin Lizzy,” Snowy said. “Their guitarist saw me when I was on tour with you, says he wants me for their new album.”

“Their new album?”

“And maybe a tour…”

“A tour...when?”

“Next year, I think,” Snowy said. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something worried him. Roger didn’t seem himself. It was hard to judge anything over the phone, of course, but something wasn’t right. 

“Next year.” 

“Yessir.” 

“Okay,” Roger said. “Hey, babe?”

“Sir?”

“I have to go now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Snowy said, face falling. He coughed. “Okay. You’re busy, yeah, the album.”

“Thank you for understanding, Terence.”

“Of course, sir.” Snowy didn’t think he really did understand. Couldn’t Roger stay? For even a few more minutes? “Um, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Can you guess, sir?” I miss you. Want you to come home. I’m lonely. 

Roger made a sound of exasperation. “Terence…please. I don’t know. If I did, I’d tell you.”

“Please, sir.” 

“July, maybe. Can’t promise anything, but July.” He heard Snowy squeal. 

“Sir! Two months!” 

“Yes, baby. Two months,” Roger said. “And then I’ll be with you.” His voice lowered. “The things I’ll do to you when I get back…”

Snowy whimpered. “Oh, fuck, sir…”

“But none of that now. I really do have to go.”

“You’ll call, yes?” 

“Of course. I’ll make sure and I’m sorry I haven’t already. I’ll call you whenever I can and the second I get home.”

“Okay,” Snowy said. He didn’t want Roger to hang up, but if two minutes was all he got, he’d take it. Plus, he was already getting hot, thinking of what Roger would put him through when he returned. 

“Oh, and Terence?”

“Yessir?”

“I’m proud of you. Asked to be in a band? For an album and a tour? That’s huge, love. And I’m proud.”

Snowy beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

“I love you, Terence.”

“Love you, sir.” 

Snowy heard the line click dead. He hadn’t even said ‘goodbye’. Not that he cared. He’d spoken to Roger, promised more chances to speak again, even given a date as to when he’d be home. That was all that mattered. He could wait. He could wait forever.


	12. Chapter 12

London, July, 1979

In June, Roger had called to stay he’d be staying in France for a little while longer, something about taxes, but that he’d still come back to London in July. Said he’d bring the entire album production to a halt if he had to. All for Snowy, who’d become awfully bored with being alone. The album he’d been asked to work on hadn’t begun recording and he didn’t have much to do. Getting work here and there, and coming home every night to an empty apartment and an empty bed. 

But July rolled along nonetheless, and Snowy awaited the first day of the month eagerly. He didn’t know what day Roger would be visiting. Sometimes, he itched to call and ask. He’d sit on his hands and yell at himself when the temptation grew too strong to resist. He was needy, desperate, starving, but his pride held him back. Or rather not wanting to be an annoyance. He knew his pride was non-existent. Roger had beaten it out of him a long time ago. 

By the third week in July, Snowy couldn’t wait anymore. In the past week, he’d spent most of it on the couch, next to the phone, Goldtop in his lap as he waited for it to ring. It never did. But there he sat, from dawn to dusk and all through the night. 

Monday arrived, the beginning of the last week of the month, and just past three in the afternoon, he found himself dialing Roger’s number, unsure if calling was surrendering or just plain common sense. 

Carolyne answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” Snowy said. “It’s Snowy.”

“Snowy!” she said brightly. “How good to hear from you. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he said, unsure of why he felt so uneasy. In the background, he could hear yelling. A young child, then the cry of a baby. 

“Any reason you’re calling?” Carolyne asked, then sighed. “I’m sorry.” She sounded tired. “That was awfully rude of me. It’s just...these damn kids, I swear. I love them, but I can’t do this all myself.”

Snowy made a sound of sympathy. Then, unable to wait any longer, he asked, “Is Roger around?”

“Roger?”

“Yeah. I was expecting a call from him,” Snowy said. “Didn’t want to be a bother or anything, but I…” 

“He’s in Los Angeles, dear. Didn’t he tell you? Harry! Let go of your sister!” 

“He’s in California?” Snowy didn’t recognize his own voice. 

“They’re wrapping up the album there. He’ll be there until October or November. Least that’s what he told me.” After a long silence, she said, “Snowy, are you still there?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Sorry, I...I gotta go.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Okay. Sorry I couldn’t be much help.”

“No, no, you’ve been very helpful. I’ll, uh, let you get back to your kids then.”

“Alright. Well, nice speaking with you, Snowy.”

“Yeah, thanks. You, too, Carolyne. Bye.”

“Goodbye, Snowy.”

Numb, Snowy put down the phone and sank into the couch. He wasn’t surprised he was crying, or that he felt sick. Confused, tired, unsure if the conversation he’d just had was real. He cried himself to sleep,   
quite alone, curled into the fetal position with his tear-stained face pressed into the cushions. Hands on his sternum, over the mark burned there, a reminder of who he belonged to. He was here to serve, and if that meant waiting, he would. He’d wait for years if he had to. He’d wait forever.


	13. Chapter 13

Los Angeles, February, 1980

Snowy and James sat together at the edge of the stage, eating lunch and talking quietly. Neither Roger or David were around, and both Snowy and James gravitated to them respectively. They still had fifteen minutes. Then continuing soundcheck for tonight’s show. James was wolfing down a sandwich, but Snowy found his own appetite absent, and he slowly ate a bag of chips, unsure if the lack of flavor was real or his own imagination. Sometimes, after a night with Roger, he was sluggish. Sore, tired, and uninterested. 

He remembered his initial anger with Roger for going off to Los Angeles and not calling. He’d gone out on the first evening of August and gotten disgustingly wasted. Wandered right into the red light district, paid for a boy who’d hit him and beat him until he couldn’t walk. Could pretend he was with Roger. Then he’d staggered home and slept it off, not getting out of bed for two days, wanting to wallow in his sadness. He’d finally come around sometimes in the afternoon on the second day. Dragged himself out of bed, had a shower and a good cry, some food. Wasn’t so much that Roger had tricked him that hurt. Hell, he wasn’t sure what that even was, what Roger had done. He was upset that he’d broken his loyalty, paid for someone, no less. 

In November, The Wall was released and Snowy bought it. Sat down and listened to it all the way through. It was the first time he’d heard Roger’s voice since May. When it had finished, he felt better. The past was the past and ahead, the future. He’d see Roger again, play with him on tour like he’d promised, and they’d pick up where they left off. The album was only a setback. Sure enough, in December, Steve had called and asked him if he wanted on board for the upcoming tour, per the band’s request. Snowy, of course, accepted, and by January, he was in Los Angeles for rehearsal. 

On his first evening in the city, the night before rehearsals began, a knock sounded at his hotel room door. Roger stood there, tight jeans and tight shirt, and Snowy lept into his arms and kissed him. Roger swung him around and held him up, still kissing him and carrying him across the room, throwing him onto the bed roughly. 

Snowy groaned and writhed when Roger climbed on top of him, sucking at his neck, pulling his hair. 

“Oh, shit. How I’ve missed you, sir…”

“Missed you more, sweet thing. I’m sorry. Leaving you like that.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” 

“Here, and gonna fuck you.”

Snowy moaned and threw his head back onto the pillows, wrapping his legs around Roger’s hips, still kissing. 

“Missed you so fucking much, sir.”

“But I’m here now, pet. You waited for me. That was good.”

“I didn’t.” It was involuntary, and Snowy immediately regretted it.

“What?” Roger sat up, heavy on his chest. 

Snowy couldn’t stop himself. He blurted, “Sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.” 

“What did you do?” 

A hand grabbed his hair and forced his head back, and he whimpered. “Just once, had a boy, missed you too much…” He cried out when he was slapped across the face. 

“You filthy whore!”

“Yessir, I’m sorry.” 

“Look at me.” Snowy had his face screwed up in shame. “Look at me.” Roger yanked his hair again. “I’m not surprised, but I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Yessir.”

“Get up, you slut. You disgust me.” He climbed off of Snowy and shoved him to the table in the corner. “Trousers down.”

Snowy did as he was told, tossing his pants and underwear onto the bed. Seconds later, he was pushed down against the table, slightly unsure of what was happening. If this was a punishment like any other he’d received, or if Roger was truly angry with him. 

“Arse up,” Roger spat, and smacked him sharply on the ass. “Stay put. Don’t you dare fucking move. I’ll be back.” 

Snowy heard the door open and close. His heart was pounding in his chest, and through his haze of fear and guilt, there was excitement, too. It had been too long since he’d had this. Door opening again, and he could sense Roger behind him. He turned his head but was ordered to keep still and look straight ahead. He felt a hand run down his back, ass, thighs. Roger, to his left, still massaging him. Then a clean swish and thwack, cane hitting the tender skin on the backs of his thighs. Snowy let out a strangled scream, mostly out of shock, the pain sudden, then fading into a dull ache. It didn’t hurt much. Yet. 

“Please. Oh, God, please. Sir, stop. Hurts too much. Stop, please.” 

_Again and again, he was struck, until it burned and he began to bleed, thin red welts crisscrossed over his ass and thighs. Roger didn’t stop and Snowy didn’t want him to. By the thirtieth lash he was crying, sobs and screams and Roger’s insults rising to a fever pitch. At forty, the cane clattered the floor, Snowy gasping for breath. In one push, Roger entered him, with only spit to ease the way and he wailed, skin sensitive, ass spread, fucked brutally._

He’d wanted this, craved it. For ten months he’d waited. And it was worth it.

 

“So what do you think of working with them?” Snowy asked, kicking his legs against the front of the stage. In a matter of hours, the arena would be filled. 

“Oh, you mean the Floyd?” James asked, throwing the last of his sandwich back on the styrofoam plate. 

“Yeah.”

“Insufferable.” They laughed. 

“They can be…” Snowy said. “Impossible, sometimes.”

“May I say, off the record, since you seem to spend a lot of time with him, that Roger’s the worst of them.”

Snowy nodded, and even alone, speaking against Roger felt like a transgression. He said, “You’re not wrong, really. I understand what you mean. He can be a bit...cruel.” 

“That’s an understatement.”

“Like, sometimes he’s mean and it’s alright, I don’t mind it,” Snowy said, thinking to just last night when he’d been bound and gagged on the bed. “But there are times where...I don’t know, James. He’s hard to put up with sometimes. Exhausting.”

“Him or that thick ox, Steve.” 

Snowy crumpled his chip back and tossed it onto James’s plate, unable to suppress a smile. “Be nice. Steve’s not so bad.”

“A bit dull.”

“I suppose. But you spend a fair amount of time with David, don’t you, Guthrie?”

“Yeah,” James said. “I guess. Got a problem with it?”

“You’re blushing!” Snowy said. He laughed. “Fancy him, do you?”

James pushed him and Snowy rolled to the side so he wouldn’t fall off the stage, splayed on his back. “Twat.”

“That’s not very nice, you know, James Guthrie,” Snowy said, smiling, as James clambered over him on all fours. It was playful, nothing more, staring at each other and laughing. Snowy put a hand on James’s back and applied pressure, getting him to lower himself. Then he gently squeezed James’s butt, and James made a face, rolling his eyes up in his head and parting his lips, an over exaggerated expression of pleasure. Snowy giggled when James rolled his hips, their bodies inches from touching. And really, that’s all it was. Having fun. They were friends. 

A shrill whistle sounded from far away and they glanced out towards the floor of the arena, David and Roger approaching. David’s shirt was untucked and Roger looked like he needed to brush his hair. He was trying to smooth it down, and his gaze was dark and disapproving. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with what he saw taking place on stage. David, as he came closer, didn’t look too pleased either, but he was staring at James, who climbed off Snowy. 

Snowy sat up, legs hanging over the edge of the stage, Roger staring up at him. He shook his head, and whispered,

“Naughty boy.” He put his hand under Snowy’s chin. “You know better.”

Snowy looked at him under heavy eyelids and said quietly, “Sorry, sir.” 

James jumped down from his perch and followed David, who was walking towards the net of soundboards and road cases that led backstage. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Snowy. Then he saw how Roger was looking at him. He quickly turned away and just before he and David disappeared backstage, Snowy was sure they joined hands. 

“Am I in trouble, sir?”

Roger cocked his head to the side, considering. He reached up and stroked Snowy’s cheek with his thumb. “Do you want to be in trouble?”

Snowy blinked at him. “No, sir.”

“Then you’re not.” He smiled, and Snowy saw the pink on his cheeks, sweat on his neck. 

“You’re warm.” Snowy put a hand to his forehead. “Everything alright?” 

“Course, dear. Now,” he said, “We’ve a soundcheck to get to. Get down from there.” 

Snowy jumped down and grabbed his trash. He walked off the way David and James had, although they were nowhere to be seen. He tossed his trash into the nearest bin, gasping when two arms wrapped around him, lips on his neck. 

“Love you, darling.”

“Love you, too, sir.”

 

That night, they fought. A quiet fight, together in Roger’s hotel bed. It ended with Snowy turning his back to Roger and trying to edge away from him as much as he could without falling off the mattress. 

“So what was that?” Roger asked. 

“What was what?” Snowy asked. He didn’t bother with ‘sir’ now. He found that after their sex when Roger was tired, he cared less about formality. 

“With James today.”

“That wasn’t anything. We’re friends.”

“S’not the sort of thing friends do.”

“It was fake. Just friends. Messing around.”

Roger narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. “How can I trust you?”

“Because,” Snowy said, taking his hand and kissing it. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“You’ve done it before.”

“Have not. When?”

“Not what I’m talking about. You said while I was gone you found someone.”

Snowy sighed in exasperation. “Please don’t bring that up, you know I feel bad about it.” They’d never spoken of it before, not since Los Angeles. 

“How can I trust you won’t do it again?”

“It was a mistake, I admit. We’re together now, though. Won’t step out on you.” He put Roger’s hand over his chest. “I’m yours.” 

“I just…” Roger shook his head, annoyed. “I trusted you. And then you went…”

“Can we drop it, please?”

“I wish it wasn’t a topic of conversation to begin with. I’m being loyal. You, Terence, however…”

Snowy scoffed. “You’re married!”

“Yes, but outside of my marriage, it’s only you, Terence. I can’t just leave my wife and children. You don’t have anyone else, no commitments. You had a choice.” 

“You had a choice, too!” Snowy said.

“With you, I did. And I have a choice leave you if I want.” Snowy looked at him with watery eyes, suddenly upset. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

“Then why’d you say it?”

“C’mere,” Roger said, and held out his arms. “Lie with me. Please?”

Snowy sneered at him, letting Roger hold him but refusing to reciprocate. 

“I’m sorry, Terence. I believe you. S’nothing between you and James.”

“That’s right.”

Roger buried his nose in Snowy’s hair. “Okay, babe. Let’s go to sleep. We’ve another show tomorrow.”

“G’night,” Snowy said. He wiggled out of Roger’s arms and turned away from him, still angry. Just saying ‘sorry’ didn’t make it okay. And he wasn’t obligated to forgive Roger, either. 

“I love you, Terence,” Roger said. He was met with only silence.


	14. Chapter 14

London, August, 1980

_Hot, feverish, cold sweat._

_The room was dark, but demons swam out of the night, and he screamed in fear. They could smell his terror, and in turn, he could feel them on his skin._

_Delerium._

_“Shhh...lie down.” Something cool, a washcloth, against his forehead. “You’re sick. Don’t cry, darling. Just a fever.” Hands pushing him onto the bed, brushing his damp hair off his face. “Hush, it’ll be gone soon, take this.” A pill shoved into his mouth, water at his lips. He swallowed. His teeth chattered and he couldn’t stop shaking. Nausea slammed into him like a wave against a ship’s hull, and he groaned. Unable to vomit, thinking it would be better if he did._

_“Hospital,” he whispered._

_“No. I’ll take care of you.”_

_Snowy shook his head weakly. “Doctor…”_

_“Can’t, babe. It’ll be over soon. Can’t take you. They’ll know.” An infection. One of the lashes on his back. Told to kneel, take off his shirt. The whip dragged over his shoulders, spine. And yet he was so sick he thought only a doctor could help him. Another monster, a demon, came at him and he looked away. Outside the sky was dark, moon oozing silver. It dripped down between the stars; he could see it. He looked ahead again, hoping his demon had vanished. It was only Roger there, close to his face, watching his eyes, unfocused gaze. Lips on his salty forehead. Darkness again. He slept. And there were no demons in his dreams._

 

That was in June. Now it was August. Six nights at Earl’s Court and Snowy was done. He had another band, of which he was a permanent member, to attend to. With the Floyd, he’d just been backup. Thin Lizzy’s tour had begun in April, and somehow, he’d packed in touring and rehearsals and in between he’d found time for The Wall. He wasn’t able to ride out the tour. He had to head off to Japan next.

“You’re David’s surrogate in the show,” Roger had explained to him at the beginning of rehearsals. “The surrogate band.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Snowy had said, ignoring the expression of displeasure Roger shot him. 

“Terence…”

“We’re in public,” he’d said, waving his arms and gesturing around them.

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Yeah, but…” _It’s different now._

“But what?”

“Leave it, would you? Just forget it.”

 

He played the shows, played them well. Then he had a month to sit around and wait. He left for Japan in late September with Scott and Phil and the rest of them. Roger visited him often in that month. They spoke little and fucked often. Sometimes, Snowy wished he could change this. Other times, he found he simply didn’t care. Two nights before he left for Tokyo Roger came over. He said he’d be back the next night, too, to say goodbye. Snowy would be gone until December, just before Christmas. 

 

“No punishments tonight, darling,” Roger said to him. They were seated on the couch, snuggled together. Roger had a glass of wine, but it was almost empty, and Snowy smuggled it out of his fingers and downed it in one gulp. 

“Didn’t do anything wrong. Why would you punish me, then?”

“Haven’t needed a reason before. And I think you forgot something.” He gently smacked Snowy upside the head.

“What?”

“‘Sir.’ You forgot ‘sir’.”

“Eh,” Snowy said, and handed Roger the glass. “Are you coming?” He stood and took his shirt off, walking back towards the bedroom. 

“Keep this attitude up and you won’t be.” The bedroom door slammed, and Roger wasn’t sure if Snowy had even heard him. Either way, it angered him. “Alright!” he shouted. He stood up, put the glass down, and went into the bedroom. He stormed in, rather, Snowy seated on the bed with his pants still on. “Trousers off!” Snowy did as he was told, but he made a fuss over it, being painfully slow and tossing his pants and underwear down with insolence. Roger didn’t bother yelling at him for this; he’d get his retribution soon enough. “Bend over the edge of the bed, legs spread.”

Again, Snowy complied, but he glowered at Roger, who was rummaging through the nightstand drawer, over his shoulder. He winced and bit his lip when he felt a slick finger inside him. It was sudden, and before he could even prepare himself, another was added. Then it was Roger’s cock, in one thrust, to the hilt, and he cried out. A hand shoved his face into the mattress and he groaned against the sheets. There was no pleasure in this, and he knew this was intentional. Roger fucked him quickly, squeezing his hips, pushing him down each time he tried to lift his head. When Roger pulled out, Snowy thought it was over, but neither of them had come, and he was shoved onto the bed, Roger lying on top of him, forcing his legs open. 

It didn’t stop. God, it wouldn’t end, and how Roger kept at it, Snowy didn’t know. It was never comfortable, purposefully painful, and by the fifth position, he was in agony and tears. He didn’t care if he was given a release or not; he just wanted it to end. Roger had become feral, and he didn’t even look at Snowy as he pounded into him. His gaze was unfocused, mouth half-open, face and hair drenched in sweat. He didn’t seem to hear when Snowy whispered that he stop, didn’t hear when Snowy pleaded with him. 

“Please stop. Sir! Please, make it stop, oh God, it hurts. I, please…” Snowy dissolved into incoherence. He’d had brutal punishments before. Sadistic beatings. Abuse. He’d liked it. It had hurt, left him battered and bloody and exhausted. But that was part of the fun, the game. ‘Stop’ didn’t mean a thing to either of them. In his hysteria, their safeword was forgotten. He thought his tone, his terror, would indicate what he wanted. “Stop! Sir, stop! It hurts!” 

Roger couldn’t hear him, see him, even feel him. He knew that. Roger was elsewhere, mind gone. In his panic, Snowy wondered foolishly if he’d ever return. This was how they’d be found days later. Rank, naked, and quite dead. Fucked to death. Snowy screamed their safeword in such volume and anguish he thought he’d break apart. Shatter. Roger stopped abruptly, staring down at him with confusion, slowly coming back to Earth. Snowy looked up at him with watery eyes, lower lip quivering. Horrified, Roger pulled out, resting on his knees and still watching Snowy, who was motionless on the bed. His legs were spread, and a few drops of blood stained the sheets. 

Roger put his hands over his mouth, his vision blurring. “Terence...oh, God.” Snowy shook his head. He couldn’t feel much past his waist. “I didn’t mean to, I, I swear, I didn’t hear you, I...fuck.” Roger covered his face, shoulders shaking. 

“Please go,” Snowy whispered. “I’d like to be alone now. You can come back tomorrow, I just...I wanna be alone.”

“Okay,” Roger said, wiping his eyes. He got off the bed, picked up his clothes, and left the room. Snowy closed his eyes, exhausted, and he heard the front door slam. Then he began to cry. Silent and slow, for he was alone, and that was all he needed. 

 

Roger hadn’t meant it. Snowy knew that.   
He thought about it as he sat in the shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, hot water splashing down on him. He sat this way until the mirror was foggy and the walls slick. Maybe he washed himself, maybe he didn’t. He couldn’t remember. It wasn’t rape. Roger hadn’t been aware of what he was doing, he’d stopped when Snowy had finally been functional enough to reach him, he hadn’t meant it. It was merely a game that had become too dark for their liking. 

Still, Snowy cried. It hurt, and it would be worse in the morning. He lay in bed, staring at the slivers of light on the ceiling. He was thirsty. But the kitchen was far and even the few steps from the shower to the bed had nearly crippled him. Part of him wished Roger had stayed. Could’ve carried him, held him in the darkness, apologized. But he couldn’t imagine sleeping next to whatever monster had taken him earlier that even. He would never be able to fall asleep. Eventually, past four in the morning, a film of pale pink on the horizon, he slept. Darkness. No pain, comfortably numb, where no monsters could reach him.


	15. Chapter 15

_"Blame it on the lies that killed us, blame it on the truth that ran us down.  
You can blame it all on me, Terry, it don't matter to me now.   
When the breakdown hit at midnight, there was nothing to say.   
But I hated him, and I hated you when you went away."_

 

September, London, 1980

“I’m sorry, you know,” Roger said. He’d insisted on helping Snowy pack. A car came for him the morning. Scott had called to say so, said he and Snowy would ride to the airport together. Then they’d board a plane, off to Tokyo. All he needed to bring was a suitcase and his guitar. Everything else would be provided. 

“I know you’re sorry,” Snowy said, taking a shirt from Roger’s arms, folding it, and setting it in his suitcase. “And I forgive you. You didn’t even mean it. Now, if you’d done this on purpose….” Roger had been apologizing for the past half hour, following Snowy around and insisting on helping him pack his things. Snowy wished he’d stop. It was annoying. 

"But…”

“Stop apologizing, please, sir. I’m alright.” Roger didn’t say anything. “I’m almost finished. Can you get the pig shirt from my closet?”

“The what?”

“The shirt with the pig on it, the one from your tour.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Snowy said, “it reminds me of you, sir. When I wear it. I’d like to bring it with me, I’ll be gone for three months.”

“You’ll call?”

“Of course, sir.” Snowy took the shirt and folded it so that the pig was facing up when he put it in his case on top of his other clothes. “Whenever I can.” _Whenever I feel like it, if I’m not too busy, if I remember._

“Good,” Roger said and kissed him. “You’re a sweet boy, Terence. You’re quite good to me.”

“Thank you.”

“‘Thank you, sir’,” Roger corrected, to which Snowy didn’t respond. He zipped up his suitcase and set it by the bedroom door. His Goldtop wasn’t packed yet; he was planning on playing her later. Something to soothe him, clear his mind. 

“How long can you stay?” he asked. 

“This evening?” Roger asked, and Snowy nodded. “Not too late, Carolyne needs me at home with the kids, but we still have time to, you know…” He glanced at the bed. “If you want to. I know you’re sore.”

Snowy didn’t think ‘being sore’ was the issue. “Not tonight, sir, I’m sorry.” 

Roger sighed. “Alright. I respect that. You’re in pain, I know.”

“You can kiss me if you like,” Snowy said, holding onto Roger’s waist. A mouth met his and he smiled. 

“‘If I like’.” Roger giggled. “As if you have a choice, love. I take what I want.”

“I don’t?” But this was in jest, and Snowy grinned to show he was kidding. Roger kept kissing him, but when his hand drifted to the button on Snowy’s pants, it was firmly pushed away. 

“Please don’t, sir.”

“Okay,” Roger said and stepped back. “Shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize anymore, I’m tired of hearing it.”

“Need to pack anything else?” Roger asked, changing the subject. “Seeing that I’m here.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Snowy left the room, heading toward the kitchen. “Hungry, sir? I can make you something if you’d like.”

“No, thank you, Terence. Anything to drink?”

“I’ve a bottle of white wine, your favorite.” Snowy got the cork out and poured him a glass. “Here.” He then poured some for himself. 

“To your tour,” Roger said, holding up his glass, and they toasted. 

“So what do you think of it?”

“Think of what?” Roger asked, walking into the living room and sitting on the couch. 

“My tour.” Snowy sat down, too. Roger put an arm around him and held him. 

“S’not your tour, darling. You’ve a band.”

Snowy thought this was a bit rude, but he held his tongue. “You know what I mean. What do you think? Of me being gone for months like this.”

“I think it’s great. Good for you, your career. Why do you ask? You’ve been gone before, earlier this year, in fact. April to June, wasn’t it?”

“Yessir.” Snowy took a sip from his glass, thinking he couldn’t knock this back fast enough. He was tired of Roger’s questions. “So you think it’s good?”

“Yes. Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know.” Snowy shrugged. “I just remember when I told you, you didn’t seem too excited.”

“That was over a year ago! I mean…” Roger took a long sip from his glass like he was stalling and didn’t want to stumble into anything too fast. “Maybe I was a little upset, but I’m over it. It’s a good thing.”

“You were upset?” Snowy looked at him. “Why were you upset? I mean, I understand it’s hard to match the excitement of someone who’s experiencing something you aren’t. But upset…”

“Yes, I was upset. Only a little.” Roger was nursing the glass again and Snowy knew he didn’t want to answer. “Just that we hadn’t talked in awhile and you called and came to me with the news you’d joined   
this band, with an album and a tour.”

“Why would that upset you? I wasn’t doing anything, you didn’t have a tour then. S’not like I was going to leave you for Thin Lizzy. Trust me.” He laughed, and finished his wine in one long sip, wanting to refill it and drink this conversation away. “They’re not worth it. Bit wild for me. Not sure if I’ll even stay past this tour.”

“Didn’t think you were going to leave me. Please. I was just surprised by the news.”

“Why?” Snowy asked. He tried to make a joke of it. “Didn’t think I was talented enough to get the gig?”

“No. You just called me outta nowhere and said you’d joined this band. It was the first I’d heard of it.”

“Called you ‘outta nowhere’?” Snowy was incredulous. “I only called cause you never did! And I had to tell you sometime. When did you want me call?”

“Maybe when you first got asked to join,” Roger said. 

“Why?” Snowy frowned. “Why should that matter?”

“Because it was a major decision.”

“And?” 

“You should’ve asked me first.”

“Why the hell would I do that!”

“Don’t shout at me, Terence! It’s disrespectful. Don’t swear, either.”

“Why the fuck would I ask you if I could join a band, further my career?” Snowy stood. He was holding his wine glass so tightly he thought it would shatter in his hands. 

“Because, like I said, it’s a big decision, it’s important.”

“It’s my life, it’s my career!”

“Yes, but—” Roger tried to interrupt.

“I’m a grown adult, for God’s sake! I don’t need you to babysit me. I make my own decisions about my own life.” 

“No, you don’t!” Roger shouted, and he, too, stood, so that they were eye to eye. He was even a little taller than Snowy. “You’re presented with decisions and then you come to me and I make them for you.”

“Since when?” Snowy yelled.

“Since the day I met you. The day you signed onto this whole thing.” Roger pointed a finger for emphasis. “I didn’t want you joining that band, and I don’t want you doing it now. I’d make you quit if I could!”

“But you can’t!” Snowy smiled. 

“Don’t you dare speak to me like this, Terence! I will beat your arse, you little bitch!”

“I can say whatever I want! You can’t control that, you don’t own me!”

Roger screamed and tossed his wine glass so that it hit the wall behind Snowy and shattered. “You fucking cunt! I do own you, I do. Always have, always will. As long as you’ve got this—” He lunged forward and  
slammed Snowy against the wall, a hand pressing into the center of his chest. “— _you are mine_.”

“No.” Snowy stared at him, unblinking. 

“What did you just say to me…” Roger grabbed the collar of his t-shirt. 

“No. I said ‘no’. You don’t own me, and you never have.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Those were fucking games. Played along cause I liked it. I’ll bend over, have you hit me and call me your ‘pet’ and destroy me and boss me around cause it isn’t real. This is my life. My life is real.”

“Terence,” Roger said quietly, so close their lips were almost touching, and Snowy could smell the wine, nearly taste it. “It’s not a game, it never was, darling. Oh, shh…” He stroked the side of his face. “Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s not healthy.” Snowy stared him down, determined not to break. He wasn’t going to do this with Roger. Not anymore. Roger continued, “I don’t like to yell at you, Terence. I love you.” He smiled, but it was sly and wolfish and had far too many teeth. 

“You don’t love me,” Snowy whispered, watching Roger’s smile collapse in on itself. “You never have. You don’t even know what love is.”

“‘I don’t know what love is’,” Roger hissed, narrowing his eyes. “It’s you, Terence, you, that doesn’t know what lo—”

“Love,” Snowy said quietly, twisting Roger’s wrist until it let go of his collar, “is being kind. Love is caring about the other person. Love is trust. Trusting that they won’t run off if you let them off their leash every once and awhile. Love is supporting who you love, regardless if you always agree with them or not or if you agree with their choices. It’s about respect, and if they’re happy, you’re happy for them.” He stepped away from Roger to stand in the center of the room. They still stared at each other, but he was far from finished. 

“By God, you can beat me and hit me cause I enjoy it, don’t mind that. Don’t even mind a few rules. It’s our game. It’s when you leave and expect me to wait around that we’ve a problem. I’ll be loyal, patient, understanding. But when I care more than you do, it’s not alright. Can’t keep me on retainer, I’m not a whore for when you need me, a convenience. Love is equality. A team effort, can’t have one person holding everything up. Love is pride in your partner, seeing their accomplishments as their own, not something you built for them.

“Every time, every fucking time you take the stage, I’m proud you,” he continued. “When you wrote The Wall, Jesus, I was so fucking proud. Not because it means I get another gig, more money, but because it’s something you created and I’m proud. And I hope you’re proud of me. Proud and happy and loving enough to let me go off and live my life because what I’m doing now is making me happy. And it’s not just about me, I want the same for you. Because that’s what love is. That’s love, Roger. Love is selflessness.” 

Roger looked at him, and Snowy saw a single tear roll down his cheek. He didn’t say anything when Roger made for the door, didn’t try to stop him. He’d said all he needed to say. 

Roger stopped, the door open and the chilly breeze of dying September blowing into the room. The light outside the flat was on, and Roger was dark against it, a halo of copper around him. 

“Will I see you when you get back?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 

“No,” Snowy said, inching towards him. “Maybe sometime, but not when I get back.” 

“Okay,” he said and stepped over the threshold. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No,” Snowy said, and he tried to laugh. “Waiting, most of the time, is delusion for things that’ll never come.” 

“You should write that down,” Roger said, and he held out his hand. Snowy shook it. “I’m proud of you, Snowy. Always have been.”

He didn’t wait for a response, and when he turned and walked off, his mouth was half open like he’d almost said something more, but didn’t. He didn’t need to. Love, the best kind, was only felt in silence. And if not felt in silence, perhaps the blues…


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue.

_"One soft infested summer, me and Terry became friends. Trying in vain to breathe the fire we was born in. Catching rides to the outskirts, tying faith between our teeth. Sleeping in that old abandoned beach house, getting wasted in the heat."_

 

West Coast, United States, 2000

As old as they got, Snowy realized he would always be five years younger than Roger. Now they were much too old to really count such things; it mattered little. 

Roger sat with his back against the headboard of the bed. He was reading a book, and Snowy watched his eyes move as he read each line on the page. Snowy sat by his feet, on the end of the bed, cross-legged with his Goldtop in his lap. 

“That’s pretty,” Roger said, not looking up from his reading. “What you’re playing.”

“Thanks. Hard to play any decent blues on lead.”

“Sing, then.” 

Snowy did, and when he wasn’t looking, Roger smiled at him. His book wasn’t entirely interesting, so he set in on the bedside and lay down under the covers. Closing his eyes, he listened. It was a ballad, even if Snowy vehemently insisted he was a bluesman, not a ballad singer. Roger liked him either way. 

 

They’d seen each other in 1990, in Berlin, and it had been nine years since they’d spoken. Wasn’t much of surprise when they ended up where they always did: locked in some hotel room, rolling about in another anonymous bed, acting like they were young again. But they weren’t and they knew it. In the end, it didn’t work. They were older now, they’d changed, didn’t have that same spark. It was too painful. 

They wanted to be friends again and not just have something hinged on the sex, which was nearly impossible because they realized they’d never been friends to begin with. Only lovers. It was gray area now. Couldn’t make it anymore, but outside of bed, they were strangers. But in ‘99 they found their rhythm. Something platonic, even romantic. Backstage, Roger might quickly kiss Snowy on the mouth if no one was looking. They’d hug, didn’t matter if they were alone then. Sometimes if they were sitting next to one another, or shoulder to shoulder, they’d hold hands. It wasn’t for any thrill of getting caught, for they didn’t really care if anyone saw them, but because they wanted to. 

Some nights, they’d sleep together, when things got lonely on tour and they were restless and awake. There was never any sex, they didn’t want it. In the dark, they’d hold each other, trade whispers and light kisses until they fell asleep. 

One morning, still half asleep in bed, Roger told Snowy all about David. He said the guilt was eating away at him and that he didn’t know how he’d held it in for so long. 

“We were together for years, Snow, years.”

“Really?” Snowy wasn’t surprised. He’d never thought of it before, but it made an awful lot of sense. 

“Thought you’d be mad.”

“Why? I don’t care. I might’ve years ago, when we were younger, but I don’t give a shit what you do anymore.”

“No?”

“S’your life. You still love me. I don’t care.”

“I do love you,” Roger said and he held Snowy tighter. “David and I had a falling out in ‘75, right before you came along.”

“Why?” Snowy asked, resting his head on Roger’s chest. 

“Cause I got too controlling. Thing was a fucking autocracy, I swear.”

“Did you make him call you ‘sir’?” Snowy hadn’t meant to be funny, but Roger laughed and kissed his hair, which was thinning now in his older years. 

“I did. Did a lot of others things, too.” Roger placed a hand on Snowy's chest. He thought of the scar on David's ribcage. The 'W' shaped scar he'd carved into his flesh one night in '69. "Marked him."

“So I wasn’t the first?” Snowy asked. 

“No. Does that upset you?”

Snowy laughed. “No, not at all. I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not really. Wonder how I didn’t see it earlier.” 

“Got back together for a few years. Then we ended it when I left the band. Had you, him, and Carolyne. All at once.” Roger paused. “I feel bad telling you all this.”

“Why?”

“Makes me sound horrible. I was horrible.”

“No, you weren’t,” Snowy said, and he kissed Roger on the cheek. “You were just a bit lost and young and a little scared. I was, too.”

Roger was quiet for a while, but eventually, he began to laugh, true laughter, and Snowy asked him what was so damn funny. 

“Because we’re old now, Snow. Old men. This is absurd.”

“What? This?” Snowy sat up, t-shirt loose on his thin frame. “Us, like this?”

“No.” Roger was still laughing, and he put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. “All of this. All the things I used to think mattered. The fights I used to have. What I thought was important, my anger.”

“I don’t get what’s so funny.” Snowy frowned at him. He pushed back the sheets and swung his legs out of bed. 

“Oh, darling, forget it. It’s me, my own head, it’s not even funny. Where are you going?” 

“To my room. I need a shower. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”

“Okay,” Roger said, giggling to himself. Snowy gave him a bemused look and left the room. He was beautiful, Roger thought, still was, even in his growing age. Beautiful and kind and nothing worth hurting. Sometimes Roger wondered why he’d ever had him. Why he came back. Didn’t think he deserved someone like Snowy. Snowy was too pretty for him. Too sweet, and much too talented. Roger was proud. Not because of what he’d done for Snowy, but of what Snowy had done for himself. 

Of course he was proud. Always had been. Always would be.


End file.
